


Windows in Autumn

by Anjelica_Grey



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/F, F/M, Fictober 2018, Flirting, Fluff, Gen, I mean I'm writing it so those are sort of a given, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Innuendo, M/M, One Shot Collection, Sarcasm, solavellan hell
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-04
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-07-25 02:55:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 31
Words: 23,283
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16188608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anjelica_Grey/pseuds/Anjelica_Grey
Summary: A collection of one-shots created for Fictober 2018. Characters and settings are drawn from across all Dragon Age games/media.





	1. Day 1: “Can you feel this?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Inquisitor Adaar takes a personal interest in the coping strategies of her party members ... one in particular.

Ashakost Adaar was amused.

“Come on, I said hit me _hard_. I can barely feel these little love taps,” Bull grumbled. The Seeker shook her head, radiating her utter bafflement at the request, but gamely gave the Qunari warrior another mighty thwack with the bat she held. It was not enough. “Ugh, this is why the Qun doesn’t like women fighting. I should’ve asked Cullen.”

Cassandra’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Can you feel _this_?” she asked, before dealing him a hit that knocked him flat on his ass. Asha had to turn away, stifling a laugh.

“Good one,” he groaned. Cass nodded at Asha before tossing down the bat and walking away with a smirk.

“You know, you really need a better way to work out your stress,” she said, offering him a hand up. “People will gossip that I’m a poor Inquisitor if I can’t keep my closest friends from beating on each other in the courtyard.”

His voice rumbled in amusement as he rubbed the place Cassandra struck him. “Oh? Have you suddenly started caring what the gossips say, Kadan?”

“Of course not,” the mage grinned. “I just prefer to keep them focused on the really juicy scandals like who I’m bedding. It’s much more interesting. And on that note,” she leaned in close to hide the highly inappropriate way her hand was gliding over bits of his anatomy, purring, “can you feel _this_?”

His voice dropped lower, sending shivers down her spine. “Mmm. So, ‘better ways to work out my stress,’ you said? I take it you have some thoughts about that.”

She gave him a wicked chuckle. “Of course. A good leader always plans ahead.”


	2. Day 2: “People like you have no imagination.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Isabela has some ideas for creative use of a Fenris and Merrill is confused.

“No, you see, that’s your problem,” Isabela complained, leaning drunkenly on Fenris’s shoulder and gesturing broadly with her pint. “People like you have no imagination.”

Marian Hawke watched her two friends banter. It always amazed her how comfortable Fenris was around the pirate queen, but given that he got along with almost no one else, she wasn’t looking a gift horse in the mouth. She and Varric exchanged a glance, and he shrugged.

“Is that so?” the warrior asked dryly, brushing his silver hair from his eyes. “And what, dare I ask, should I be imagining?”

“You have that fabulous trick with the glowing,” she slurred, oblivious to the elf’s raised brow. “And sure, it’s fine for putting fists through people and all that, but you know where it would really be fun?”

Hawke’s senses were dulled by the inevitable inebriation of their regular Wicked Grace night, but they flared to life nonetheless. _‘Oh Flames,’_ she thought. _‘of course she would choose the topic he’s the most spiky about. And it’s ‘Bela, so whatever she’s going to say next is probably about sex. Maker, I am too tired to break up a bar brawl at this hour.’_

Isabela didn’t wait for a reply. “In the bedroom, obviously.”

Merrill piped up, because of course she did. “Oh! What a good idea, Isabela! How convenient, to glow in the dark. It would be so nice to not have to worry about hitting my shins on books and things. And you’d save money on candles!”

The pirate laughed, “Yes, Kitten, I suppose that’s true, even if it’s not exactly what I meant. I was thinking more about how those markings cover his entire body…and how exciting it would be to watch that glow disappearing and reappearing, slow at first, then faster…”

“All right,” Fenris smirked. “That’s quite enough description to make your point. And quite enough ale for one evening, as well.” She pouted until he added, “Perhaps I’d better escort you to your room.”

Varric and Hawke watched in stunned silence as the pair swayed off to Isabela’s room down the hall. _‘When did that start?’_ Marian mouthed, but the dwarf merely shook his head, eyebrows raised and eyes wide.

Huh. Fenris and ‘Bela; who’d have thought?

“I wonder if he’s going to try glowing in the dark? It sounds quite lovely. Do you think he’d mind terribly if I went along to see? His markings are so pretty.” Merrill’s innocent questions nearly made Hawke spit ale across the table.

“Uh, no, Merrill, I think Fenris might get angry if you followed him without asking first.”

The brunette elf sighed. “Yes, I suppose you’re right. Well, maybe next time.”

Varric laughed. “Sure, Daisy. Next time.”


	3. Day 3: “How can I trust you?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Warden Commander Brosca finds an unexpected apostate.

“An apostate? At Vigil’s Keep?” Ser Mhairi, the warrior accompanying her, sounded bemused by such a strange development.

“You weren’t here when I arrived,” the mage answered. “I’m sure I would’ve remembered such a lovely woman as yourself.”

Natia Brosca might have become Warden Commander through a bewildering twist of fate, but before all that, she’d spent her life among casteless dwarven criminals, and she recognized a con job when she saw one. Mhairi was an attractive enough human with her pleasant features and sable hair. But she was also covered head to toe in both armor and the innards of the enemies they fought on the way in. It was not the sort of garb to inspire flirtation.

After the templars fell to the surprise darkspawn attack, the mage had obviously been hoping to make his escape when she and Mhairi turned up. She could practically see the wheels turning in his brain as he rattled off a nonchalant recitation of events. He got full marks for sheer brass, she had to admit. Anders, as he was called, no doubt weighed his chances against a Warden, a warrior, _and_ the darkspawn still wandering about, and came up with unfavorable odds; he promptly offered his aid in quelling the attack.

Natia was unimpressed.

Placing her hands on her hips (conveniently near her daggers), she eyed him with a raised brow. “Right. And when your next fireball _accidentally_ cooks us in our armor, no doubt you’ll cry great big tears as you leave this place in the dust. Do you think I’m that stupid? How can I trust you?”

Anders tilted his head, considering, “A not unreasonable question, given the circumstances. I could give my word I’ve attacked no one who didn’t mean me harm, but you’ve no reason to believe me. How about this: we declare a truce until the monsters are dead, and discuss further consequences then?” She hesitated, twisting the end of her long red braid, so he continued. “For my part, I’d much prefer an armed guardian between myself and a rampaging darkspawn horde. Because really, supposing I somehow took on both of you charming ladies at once and came out on top, even a man of my considerable talent needs a rest eventually.” The blatant innuendo in his tone drew an answering smirk from her in spite of herself. For a mage, the guy made a good rogue.

“Hmm. I suppose.” She looked up at him, annoyed as usual by how hard it was to be intimidating when everyone else was so tall. “I should note, for the sake of conversation, that dwarves are resistant to magic, and I’ve been practicing with throwing knives since I was four years old. Just as a point of information, you understand.”

To her surprise, the blond mage grinned, brushing the hair from his eyes as he gave her a small bow. “I believe I understand perfectly, Warden Commander. One apostate at your service, until the darkspawn are defeated or he gives you cause to make him a knife-holder.”

She chuckled. “It’s a deal.”


	4. Fictober Day 4: “Will that be all?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen is pleased to see his Inquisitor after her long absence, and as usual, Scout Jim is forced to make a hasty retreat.

Kethryn Trevelyan always entered his office silently, whenever his officers or scouts were present. She didn’t want to disrupt his work, she said … as if her mere presence weren’t sufficiently distracting all on its own. Luckily, today he was just finishing up. Maker, he’d missed her. All that time she’d been off in the Graves, and he’d—

“Ah, will that be all, Commander?”

“… what?”

The scout— _‘What was the blasted man’s name?’_ Cullen thought irritably. _‘Jim, wasn’t it?’_ —cleared his throat and, in lieu of trying to sink into the floorboards, repeated his question. “I said, will that be all? Uh, Ser. Commander!” he corrected himself frantically. Near the door, Kethryn hid a giggle behind her hand.

“Oh. Oh, yes. Yes, that’s all. Dismissed,” Cullen stammered, and Scout Jim dashed for the exit like the office was afire.

The Inquisitor laughed merrily as Cullen came around to lock the door. “That poor scout. He always seems to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. You shouldn’t glower at him so frightfully, you know. One of these days, I fear he may faint dead away in terror.”

“Well, if I didn’t have a beautiful woman sneaking into my office to distract me, this sort of thing wouldn’t happen.” He slid his arms around her, smiling into her hair. “So really, you’ve only yourself to blame.”

“You make a fair point,” she replied, brushing her nose along the edge of his jaw. “Perhaps I should depart. I would hate to disturb the Commander of the Inquisition when he’s … hard at work.”

Cullen gave a low chuckle at her innuendo, his mouth against her ear. “It’s too late now, so we may as well carry on. You wouldn’t want Scout Jim’s scare to have been in vain, would you?”

She laughed against his lips. “Maker forbid,” she said, and then, “Oh, Cullen, I missed you so much. I kept trying to shave time off our return trip until Dorian threatened if we rode any more hours each day, I’d have to make Josephine hire a masseuse for his abused posterior.”

“Leave it to Dorian to come up with a threat like that.” He rolled his eyes with a snort. “But,” he cupped her cheek, drinking her in with his gaze, “at least you’re here now.” Her eyes fluttered closed as she tipped her face up toward his, and he needed no further invitation.

A short while later, they parted for air. Kethryn snuggled into the fur of his collar, before giving him a heated glance from beneath lowered lashes. “So … do you want to follow me to my chambers, or should I climb the ladder to yours?”

His arms tightened around her as he answered with a purring growl, “Why go so far, when there’s a perfectly good desk right here?”

“Why, indeed?” she grinned.


	5. Day 5: “Take what you need.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Varric takes care of a Hawke torn by grief.
> 
> [Note: MAJOR spoilers for DA2, referenced character death.]

“Hawke.”

Maura struggled out of a daze, slowly realizing her friend had been trying to capture her attention for some time. She sprawled across a comfortable chair in Varric’s rooms at the Hanged Man, and he perched on the edge of a nearby table, studying her with concern. The wan smile she forced fooled no one.

“Listen, Waffles, you’re exhausted. You haven’t slept in over two days. You really should head home and get some rest,” he said.

Home? The word stuck like a thorn in her brain. What did it even mean? Was it the city she never stepped foot in until long after Father and Bethany were dead? The part of town her brother avoided so he never had to endure her company? The estate her mother had been so excited to reclaim, until a murderous psychopath ripped her away from it forever? The home where Anders—

At the thought of his name, she finally broke, her efforts to keep silent proving as futile as everything else she’d done in her life. In an instant Varric was at her side, holding her while she sobbed in helpless anguish. “Shh, I’ve got you. Let it out, sweetheart. I’m here; it’s all right.” 

They both knew it for a lie. _Nothing_ was right. Jagged shards of grief poured from her aquamarine eyes, a pale echo of the rivers of blood flowing over the City of Chains. Kirkwall was in ruins because of events begun by an unrepentant mass murderer ... who also happened to be the man she loved. Or at least he had been, once. But jagged shards were all he’d left of her heart when he forced her to execute him for his unforgivable crime. Now he was just another corpse clogging the streets of this cursed place, just another person she’d killed. How could anything ever be right again?

Varric stroked her dark hair and rocked her gently, murmuring words of comfort as her weeping soaked his shoulder. If she ruined the butter-soft leather of his fine coat, or if some of the tears on her cheek were not her own, neither of them spoke of it.

At last, she quieted. In a thick voice muffled by his solid chest, she said, “I can’t—I can’t go back there, Varric. Please. I ... I don’t think I can bear it.”

The sympathy in the dwarf’s eyes threatened the little composure she’d gained. “That’s fine, Hawke. You don’t have to go there if you don’t want to. I’ll have everything taken care of; don’t worry.” Though a pathetic twist of her mouth was the closest she could come to a smile of gratitude, he’d been her friend through most of her darkest moments; he understood. But then he asked a question she wasn’t prepared for. “What do you want to do?”

Until now, she’d managed to avoid thinking much. First she’d had to deal with the Knight-Commander, the First Enchanter, and most of Kirkwall’s mages and templars going mad, and that took every ounce of focus she could muster. But afterward, she’d still pushed herself to the limit. She used her magic to protect, bracing falling walls so survivors could be pulled from the rubble. She used her magic to destroy, blasting scavengers and criminals who tried to prey upon the chaos. And of course, she used her magic to heal, helping Merrill and a few other mages with an endless stream of broken and bloody victims.

But then Merrill had shooed her off to take a break. She had wanted to protest, but they both knew her healing skills were terrible. Even as a blood mage, Merrill was better suited to the task, with spells and herb lore from her Dalish clan. Hawke had never needed to learn healing spells. She’d always had Bethy before the Blight, and once she came to Kirkwall, she had Anders—

Anders, who proved how much more he cared for his so-called justice than he cared about her. Her laugh was bitter. “What do _I_ want? Since when has _that_ ever mattered? I want this Void-taken shithole of a city to stop falling apart for five minutes. I want the last week to never have happened. I want to wake up next to Anders and find out this was all a bad dream when I lay my head on his chest instead of stabbing a dagger through it. I want ... I want him _back,_ Varric. Maker _save_ me, but I _do_.” Her face crumpled, and the endless well of her tears spilled over again.

Varric’s arms tightened around her. “I know, Hawke; believe me. And I’m so sorry. All my informants and spies in this city, and for what? I should’ve figured it out. I should’ve _known_.” 

She pulled away, surprised out of her sorrow. “What? No, that’s— _no_ , Varric. _It’s not your fault._ If anyone should’ve known, it was _me_. He got me to help him distract the Revered Mother while he did it, for Fade’s sake, and I went along with it. I was such a fool.”

“Pretty sure there’s plenty of guilt to go around, Waffles.” The dwarf’s weak grin vanished as quickly as it appeared. “But I still should have seen this coming, and stopped it ... and I didn’t. I am so sorry, Hawke. I failed you. But I swear on all that’s holy I won’t _ever_ fail you like that again.” He held her hand in his as he regarded her with uncharacteristic seriousness, and his eyes blazed so fiercely she had no reply.

He sat up straighter, a steely determination washing over his features. “Okay, so in the short term, the first thing we need to do is get you out of Kirkwall. Aveline and Junior are gonna have their hands full helping Curly put the city back together. Daisy’s needed in the clinic. That leaves the elf and the Choir Boy ... and ‘Bela, if she hasn’t skipped town. Sebastian has contacts in Starkhaven ... and since there’s no Chantry left for him to hide in, it’s high time he gets off his ass and does something more constructive than singing songs and lighting candles.” He glanced upward, calculating. “So in the morning I’ll send for him, and—“

“Wait, wait ... what are you talking about? Why should I go to Starkhaven ... or anywhere? There’s too much to do here; I can’t just run away!”

Varric’s sigh carried the weight of unpleasant truth. “You’re a mage, Hawke, and a known associate of—well, you know. Curly’s smart enough not to send his templars after you, but when news of this spreads, what do you think the head honchos in Val Royeaux will do? I can keep Merrill off their radar, in Darktown and the Alienage, but you’re too well-known. They’ll come for you.”

He was right. Chantry higher-ups would come, and neither Cullen’s gratitude nor her status as the Champion of Kirkwall would protect her. If she stayed here, they’d find her, and they’d either execute her on the spot or make her Tranquil. For a moment, she wondered ... would that be so bad? Yes, she’d lose her magic ... but she’d also lose the pain that threatened to spill into her throat and choke her. She wouldn’t feel the grief, the betrayal—she wouldn’t feel _anything_.

“Hey, you still in there, Waffles? I know this a lot to take in, but stay with me, okay?”

She nodded, sighing. No, she couldn’t wait to be captured, she realized. Her friends would feel responsible—and worse, they’d be next on the Chantry’s hit list. She’d brought them all enough trouble as it was. “I—you’re right. I’ll leave. But,” her eyes beseeched him, “can’t ... can’t you come with me?”

Varric enfolded her in his arms again, holding her close. “Oh Hawke, you have no idea how much I want to. But I need to be here. I don’t trust anyone else to keep them from finding you.”

Maura buried her face in his neck. “Doesn’t feel right, planning to go somewhere without you.”

“I know, Waffles,” he spoke into her hair, voice rough with emotion. “I know. But it’s the only way.”

Finally he sat back, visibly pulling himself together. “So. I’ll send someone over to pack up your clothes and stuff. Anything specific you’d like to take?”

“There’s nothing left there I care about. But ... I should bring traveling money, I guess.”

He shook his head dismissively. “I’ve got coin here; you can take what you need.”

“Varric—“

“Let me do this for you, Maura. Please.”

She nodded, eyes brimming, and he gave her a ghost of his usual smile. “Good. Come on now, it’s time to get some rest.” He guided her over to his own bed, turned away while she shed her outermost garments, and gently tucked her in.

“I’ll be surprised if I can even sleep,” she laughed ruefully. “I keep waiting for the next rioter or abomination to charge.”

Wordlessly, the dwarf pulled a chair beside the bed, and laid his crossbow across his knee. Taking her hand in his, he said, “Rest, Maura. I won’t let anything hurt you tonight.”

“Thank you. For ... everything.”

He squeezed her hand. “Goodnight, Hawke.”

“Goodnight, Varric.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had this entire thing finished, and just as I was getting ready to copy it from Word and post it here, my Word crashed. And even though I'm usually compulsive about saving...this time, not so much. Even autosave had forsaken me. Sigh. So now, having written the whole thing twice, I hope it came out well. :P
> 
> I broke my own heart with this story, so if it hits you in the feels, you aren't alone. <3


	6. Day 6: “I heard enough; this ends now.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which unlikely youngsters go on an adventure.

“So, d’ye reckon Dara’s done for, then?”

The words of a soldier, trying to sound nonchalant and failing, caught the attention of a young man walking past the royal apothecary’s stillroom, and he stopped to listen.

“How would I know? I thought you were the one having it off with ‘er, as often as you’re in here for potions.” The apothecary’s gruff annoyance carried through the quiet hall.

“Sssh! Maker’s blood, Adan, are ye trying to get me called up before the guard captain?” The other man’s non-committal snort must’ve appeased the soldier, because he continued. “They sent ‘er off to West Hill, nigh on two weeks ago, and she ain’t been ‘eard from since. Went out to scout fer giants on account of some farmholder turning up with wild tales, the guard lieutenant sez, but I figgered ‘e was just winding me up.”

The young man in the hallway brushed a wayward lock of blond hair out of his eyes and edged closer to the door, trying to see without being seen. Adan’s face registered surprise. “Giants, you say? Higher-ups ordered a few of my more potent explosives a week or so ago, asked if they were strong enough to take down something big ... but I thought they meant those huge grizzlies in the Hinterlands, not a bleedin’ giant!” He shook his head. “I’ve not heard the whole story, but if she hasn’t sent word...”

“Lieutenant sez the captain offered to send more men, but the King said ‘e’d set Arl Wulff on it. Said they wasn’t in much of a hurry, neither.” The soldier continued muttering, but the young man in the hallway had already left with haste, an anticipatory gleam in his eye.

_Giants!_

The Guard Captain was just finishing up his daily report to King Maric when the energetic blond lad reached the council chambers. “Any news on Scout Lieutenant Dara, your majesty?” the captain asked. “Some members of her unit have expressed worry.”

“I’m sure there’s nothing to fear, Captain,” Maric replied. “I sent her out more to satisfy that poor mad landsman than out of any real concern. ‘A hundred giants in West Hill’ indeed. The fellow probably saw the shadow of his own cattle.”

“No doubt, your majesty. It’s ... it’s only that it’s been almost two weeks with no word, and—“

“I’ve heard enough; this ends now!” exclaimed the young man, stepping forward with such excitement it veritably crackled around him. “Father, if there’s any chance of giants menacing our subjects, we must act! I shall go myself to assess the danger and eliminate any threat.”

“Hello, Cailan,” Maric said mildly, sharing an amused glance with the Guard Captain. “How good of you to join the morning briefing. And only half a bell late this time!”

“My apologies; I was busy with other matters. But about West Hill—“

The king eyed his son fondly. “it’s already handled, pup. I doubt there’s any real cause for concern, but Arl Wulff will send men out to the farmstead when he’s able.”

The determination in the lad’s blue eyes only increased. “But Father, imagine the damage to the countryside if a monster like that roams free. I am well-trained in arms, and could assist with—“

“It’s _handled_ , Cailan,” the king interrupted, this time with an edge in his tone. “You are indeed skilled, and nearly an adult besides, but it would be absurd to send the Prince of Ferelden out on every hysterical farmer’s wild goose chase.” He breathed a sigh. “I know you yearn for adventures like those in the tales, but trust me, son, you needn’t search for battle. The dogs of war will find you, whether you wish it or no, and I only pray it takes as long as possible for them to pick up your scent.”

A muscle ticked in Cailan’s jaw, freshly shorn of its morning stubble, but he made no further objections. “Yes, sire. I understand.” He held his peace then, until the meeting ended and he bid courteous farewell to his elders.

“That was rather too easy, don’t you think?” asked the captain, when Cailan’s footfalls faded.

“Most certainly,” said Maric. “But at least this way, if he hares off after adventure, we’ll know where to start looking.”

________________________________________

That evening, a familiar voice drifted through the door of Cailan’s rooms. “I thought being a prince meant you didn’t have to pack your own bags,” said Anora. He drank her in with his eyes; as always, her beauty was immaculate. Peeking out into the sitting room behind her and finding no one, he pulled her inside and kissed her soundly, attention she reciprocated with interest.

They’d been betrothed since they were children, but as ridiculous as it sounded, he’d almost been nervous of her for a time. She was three years his senior (years which seemed vast in one’s teens), but beyond that, she carried herself with such flawless grace that he felt himself quite an oaf in her presence. That was, until she’d confessed how she envied his spirit. No one else, she complained, ever let her have any fun. From that day on they’d been inseparable, steadily stretching the bounds of propriety.

“Mmm,” she smiled against his lips. “Not that I mind, but a kiss does not answer my question. Are you planning a clandestine journey, my love?”

Cailan drew her over to a small sofa and explained the matter of the giants in West Hill. “So,” he finished, “I mean to have a look. Can you imagine the courtiers’ reactions if I rode back into Denerim victorious, a wagon carrying the head of a legendary giant following behind?”

Anora eyed him speculatively and he sighed, waiting for her to talk him out of it. Finally she spoke. “I have only one question.”

“Oh? And what might that be, my lovely future queen?”

She grinned, eyes alight with all the rebellion she usually kept hidden. “When do we leave?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Based on a story in World of Thedas, Vol. 2, about Cailan and Anora sneaking off to fight a giant. :)


	7. Day 7: “No worries, we still have time.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Inquisitor has second thoughts about pranking Garrett Hawke.

“Sera, I cannot believe you talked me into pranking the _Champion of Kirkwall_. What are we even _doing_ here?” Kiera Trevelyan twisted the end of her auburn braid.

“Don’t get yer knickers knotted, Herald. I already said why ‘e’s been askin’ to be taken down a peg, yeah?” The elf surveyed Garrett Hawke’s room with an eye for potential mischief.

“Beating you at cards and drinking you under the table are hardly grounds for retaliation. By those criteria, you owe pranks to half the Inquisition.”

“True, that. But I’m only one person; I’ll get ‘em all sooner or later.”

The Inquisitor rolled her eyes, laughing. “What are you even planning to do?”

Sera gave her an irritated glare. “If I knew that, it’d be done already.”

“Are you sure he won’t be back?”

“Nah, ‘e’s over in the Rest. Prob’ly telling tales to Varric an’ Bull about the massive size of ‘is—“

“Sera!”

“—ego.” She smirked. “Why, Fancybritches, what’d ye think I was gonna say? If I didn’t know better, I’d suspect you had a bit of interest in what was under Hawke’s spiky armor. That why ya don’t wanna hurt ‘is feelings? Lookin’ to introduce the Champion to the sacred ladybits of Andraste?”

Kiera flushed pink. “What?! I—no! Well. I mean ... yes, he’s attractive, and who _wouldn’t_ be curious? He has this energy about him, that—ugh, Maker, why am I _talking_ to you about this?” She shook her head. “We should just get out of here before we make fools of ourselves.”

“No worries, we still have time,” Sera said absently, poking through a backpack at the foot of the bed. “Oooh, I’ve got it! Wait’ere a minute, Quizzy. Gonna go grab a jar of jam from the kitchen.” And before the other woman had a chance to respond, she’d hopped back through the window into the night. Kiera laid a hand over her face, wondering why she listened to her crazy friend.

A rich baritone laugh interrupted her musing, and she gaped in horror. Emerging from the shadows of the adjoining room was a highly amused Garrett Hawke. The muscular mage leaned indolently against the doorframe, his blue eyes skating over her with playful heat. “Why Herald, what a pleasant surprise! Apart from all the tedious world-saving business, we’ve barely had a chance to talk.”

Kiera prayed for the earth to open and swallow her, but to no avail. “Ah ... hello, Messere Hawke! I, uh ... I came to check on your accommodations, to make sure you’re comfortable here.“ She aimed for ‘relaxed smile,’ but suspected she hit ‘strained grimace’ instead.

The man’s roguish grin widened, and she was fascinated by the contrast of his white teeth against his ebony beard. “The lodgings are lovely, Lady Trevelyan. And I love the new décor.”

Her brow crinkled in confusion; the room was clean but practically bare. Then she realized he meant her, and her stomach did a little flip. “I ... I’m glad to hear that. But if there’s anything I can do to make you more comfortable, you must let me know.” She dared a shy glance his way, and his smirk sent a shiver down her spine. _‘Maker’s breath, I am flirting with the Champion of Kirkwall,’_ she thought.

The tall mage ambled over, bending to take her hand and brush a kiss across her knuckles. Without rising, he looked up through his long dark lashes. “Please ... call me Garrett.”

“Oh ... yes, of course. Garrett. Then you must call me Kiera.” Her chest heaved with her shaky breath and his sharp eyes tracked the movement with interest. When he rose, he was close enough for his frisson of electricity to dance along her skin.

“Kiera it is; I make it a practice never to deny the wishes of a beautiful woman. Oh, and one other thing.” He leaned down until his lips were near her ear. “I don’t tell stories about the size of my ‘ego.’ It’s more fun to let you investigate it for yourself.”

She laughed in spite of herself; the man was shameless, and it emboldened her in return. Abandoning caution, she turned her head so his mouth brushed the line of her jaw. “Hmm, good point. As inquisitor, I do try to gather all the evidence before making a judgment.”

Hawke’s deep, rumbling chuckle pooled low in her belly. “The tales of your wisdom are as accurate as those of your beauty. How would you like to join me for a drink,” he held up a flask, “and we can discuss details of your fact-finding mission?”

She nodded, thanking the Maker for crazy elves ... but only after she locked the window.


	8. Day 8: “I know you do.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair brings the heat.

Exhausted, Elissa Cousland slouched onto a log beside the sputtering campfire. The icy Fereldan rain they’d endured all day had let up, but every scrap of landscape was a soggy mess. It was one of the rare occasions she was grateful for Morrigan; the woman was spiky and insulting, but they’d never have gotten a fire started without magic. The flames were fitful, but still gave off heat that felt divine to her numbed extremities.

She didn’t realize she’d dozed off until Alistair’s voice woke her with a start. “Here, I cobbled a stew together from the last of our provisions. I made it, so it’s terrible,” he joked, “but at least it’s hot.”

The wooden bowl radiated delightful warmth to her frozen fingers, and she smiled up at the handsome warrior. “Thank you, Alistair. I appreciate it.”

“I know you do,” he gave her a tender look, before shifting back to his comfortable humor. “But that’s only because you haven’t tasted it yet.” Chuckling, he sat behind her on the damp log, cuddling her against his body to warm her while she ate.

“You’ve cleverly won me over by preventing my death from frostbite. At this point, you could’ve made the stew from shoe leather with the flavor to match, and I’d still love it.”

“That’s good to hear. On an unrelated note, I hope you’ve an extra pair of boots.”

Elissa turned in his arms to swat him playfully, laughing. “Unprovoked boot vandalism! And when I was helpless with cold, besides? I am appalled, ser! And here I was just about to suggest a way I might show my gratitude to you for being so considerate.”

“Damn. Well, I did share my own personal body heat to make you comfortable. Surely that must count for something?” The humor in his tone blended with a hint of plaintive hopefulness and the first stirrings of an entirely different kind of heat.

Faced with such a heady combination, there was no choice but to kiss him. So she did.


	9. Day 9: “You shouldn’t have come here.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Moira Hawke pays a visit to Starkhaven, and meets a prince.

The sudden shift in the air was Sebastian Vael’s only warning, but it was enough. The Prince of Starkhaven dove from his desk chair, grabbing a jeweled letter opener on the way, and turned toward the window that should have been shut.

“Hey, Sebastian. Glad to see you haven’t gotten slow in your old age.”

He rose, laying his makeshift weapon back on the desk and regarding the rogue with a raised eyebrow. “Hawke, it’s only been six months. I’d like to think I haven’t aged all that much.”

The smile she’d donned at the sound of his Starkhaven brogue faded. “I don’t know; sometimes I feel I’ve aged centuries.”

He surveyed the woman before him the way he looked at most things these days, through a haze of doubt and guilt. Her short dark hair and jewel-bright eyes were achingly familiar, and he only now allowed himself to admit how much he’d missed her ... though he had no right.

Hawke showed interest in him years ago, but he had rebuffed her, citing his oaths to the Chantry. She respected his choice, and eventually seemed to find joy in the arms of another man. Anders was not deserving of her, he felt, and it always galled him ... but never more so than when he revealed himself to be a terrorist who murdered Grand Cleric Elthina and dozens of others without a shred of remorse. Sebastian had demanded Anders’ death that day, and Hawke had given it.

But when it was all over, doubt set in. Was his cry for justice what Elthina would’ve wanted, or would she have said it was simply one more murder atop the rest? And worse yet ... had he wished the man dead solely for his crimes, or because he’d dared betray the rare and precious Moira Hawke? On this and many other questions, the Maker remained silent.

Lost in his thoughts, he jumped when she spoke. “I was bored, so I stopped by for a visit. I’d have used the door, but I’m so popular these days it’s a chore to wade through all my fans. The window was easier.” Her breezy tone failed to cover her nervousness.

“I’m surprised you haven’t been made Viscount by now.”

“They tried, but Seneschal Bran and I didn’t get on well. And when templars and Chantry officials from Val Royeaux turned up, I felt the sudden need to take a holiday.” She walked closer, perching on the edge of his desk, and grew serious again. “Besides, I never had a chance to say a proper farewell. Why did you leave, Sebastian?”

And there was the subject he’d hoped to avoid, right out in the open. He dissembled. “I had to. With Kirkwall’s collapse, the question of my return to Starkhaven became academic.” She tilted her head in inquiry, so he elaborated. “You know Starkhaven’s been in chaos ever since my family’s assassination. A fallen Kirkwall left a clear pathway through the Marches to southern Thedas; it would’ve been too great a temptation for Tevinter or the Qunari to resist. I was the only one who could unite the Starkhaven nobility quickly. I asked the Maker to give me a sign, and that was it.”

Hawke gave him a sad, crooked smile that pulled at his heart. “The Maker told you to leave without saying goodbye?”

Sebastian shoved away from the desk, striding to the window and rubbing the back of his neck. Finally, he answered, “I didn’t think you’d want to see me after ... everything. I knew you were in—ah, that you cared for ... him. I thought you might hate me for making you deliver his punishment.”

He didn’t dare glance back at her, and she moved silently as always, so he started when her hand touched his elbow. “Sebastian, look at me.” Reluctantly, he turned to meet the aquamarine eyes he’d been dreaming of so long. “First of all,” her mouth twisted in a wry smile, “since when has anyone ever _made_ me do anything?”

It startled a laugh from his throat. “That is a fair point.” She grinned, and he had to clench his fists to keep from reaching out to touch her lovely face. But then she sobered again.

“As for ... as for Anders,” she said, swallowing, “it was difficult, yes. But you were far from the only person who wanted him dead. It would’ve happened one way or another. Part of me wanted my own vengeance for his betrayal, and the other part knew he’d find a kinder death at my hands than at the Chantry’s. It went as it had to.”

“But ...”

“I did care for him, and he cared for me.” She studied his face, and no doubt noted the flash of pain he tried to hide. “We loved as much as we were able. But his heart was given to his cause, and mine—“ She bit her lip, eyeing him nervously. “Mine was given elsewhere.”

_‘Surely she doesn’t mean what I think?’_ He blinked, trying to process her words, but took too long.

Hawke’s face crumpled and she turned away. “I’m sorry; this was foolish of me. I—all these years, you struggled to choose between the Chantry and Starkhaven, and I didn’t want to make you abandon your oaths. But then you left and came here, and I thought maybe—“ She shook her head, and made to walk away, but he touched her arm.

“Hawke— _Moira_ , wait. It—it wasn’t foolish. It wasn’t foolish at all.” And before he could think any more, he pulled her close and kissed her, the way he’d dreamed of while he lay alone in his vast bed in a palace full of melancholy memories.

The sensation rolled over him like a tidal wave, and it was all he could do not to drown. It had been so long, _so long_ since he’d allowed himself to be this near a woman, and for it to be the one he’d loved from afar was nearly his undoing. He crushed her to his chest, feeling the dizzying press of her body against his, and when she gasped, he slid his tongue into her mouth and drank her breath like a man in the desert finding water. The immediate ferocity of his need startled him, and was all that gave him the strength to pull away.

“I ... I’m sorry; I didn’t mean—I shouldn’t have—“

She looked up at him, still far too close for his equilibrium, especially with kiss-swollen lips and the haze of desire in her eyes. “Yes, you did, and you should. We’ve been waiting years for this, and you know it. I may not be sure of much in this world, but I’m sure of that.”

He paced away, raking a hand through his auburn hair in agitation. His accent thickened with his tension, but he couldn’t be bothered to care. “No. I _can’t_. You shouldn’t have come here, Hawke,” he grated, hating every word. “You deserve _more_. You deserve better than someone who has to keep you hidden to avoid angering the Chantry or a bunch of damned nobles, and I can’t _be_ that. I’m the Prince now; I have responsibilities, and—“

“I know all about responsibilities,” she interrupted fiercely. “I know that when you honor them, you just get more. And they keep coming and never stop, until one day you turn around and realize you’ve lost every part of yourself and all the people who made it worthwhile.” She turned liquid eyes up at him, lip trembling. “I’ve lost everything else, Sebastian. I don’t want to lose you. Please don’t make me.”

And suddenly, the miasma of uncertainty he’d lived in vanished. He’d pledged to serve the Maker, and that hadn’t changed. But the woman before him had spent the last decade protecting the weak, tempering the strong, and striving for peace in the worst of times. She was doing, in short, all the things the Chantry _should_ have been doing and _wasn’t_ , because of appearances and petty politics.

And for all her efforts, she’d harvested nothing but pain. It wasn’t right. If the Maker would not reward her for all she’d given up, it fell to His servants to do so on His behalf. And that was an oath Sebastian could keep forever.

Wordlessly, he held his arms open, and she crashed into his embrace, holding him as if she feared he’d dissolve into a dream. He buried his face in her hair. “You’re right. And ... I love you, Moira Hawke.”

She smiled up at him with tears rolling down her cheeks, like a rainbow forming before the storm was over, and his heart swelled until he was certain it would burst from his body; Maker, she was beautiful and brave and brilliant, and how could he have been such a fool to walk away?

“I love you too, Sebastian Vael.” She kissed him again, slow and sweet this time, and the world could have collapsed around them without their notice.

When at last they parted, Hawke gave him a tender version of her characteristic cheeky grin. “Just don’t get any ideas about calling me Princess. Varric would never let me hear the end of it.”

He laughed, holding her close. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”


	10. Day 10: “You think this troubles me?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dorian is not very comforting, and then he is.

Halamshiral was a dizzying assault on his senses, and he hated it.

Mahanon Lavellan would gladly have traded any sum of money to be elsewhere. The Orlesians were swathed in acres of gaudy fabric, clashing with one another in a blinding swirl. Their ridiculous masks made him feel trapped inside a bizarre dream, surrounded by faceless, mocking demons. The stench of too many people in heavy clothing crammed indoors together was an affront to his nose, and the sickly-sweet perfumes they used to disguise it only worsened the problem. Musicians played conflicting melodies from every corner, nearly drowned out by the endless cacophony of forced gaiety and fake laughter. Everything here was overwhelming and none of it was real.

And it certainly did not improve his mood when three different nobles assumed him to be a servant and ordered him to fetch things. He was beginning to appreciate Commander Cullen’s stance on Orlais.

It was only the Ambassador’s pained pleas for decorum that kept him from barreling through the corridor toward the gardens and a breath of cleaner air. He chafed at the need to nod and smile at a gauntlet of interchangeable facades, and finally wrenched open the outer door with a sigh of relief.

His mood further improved at the sight of Dorian standing alone near a fountain. He hadn’t paid much mind to Josie and Vivienne’s fashion discussions, though he’d been more than a bit skeptical to learn they’d all be wearing matching coats of bright scarlet. On Dorian, however...

Well, if he were being truthful, he’d admit everything looked good on Dorian—though the elf’s personal preference was to see his beloved in nothing at all.

“Thank the Creators. Not only have I finally found someone wearing their own face, it’s one of my favorite faces to see. I’m surprised you aren’t surrounded by a gaggle of admirers like poor Cullen.”

“I pity Cullen in this place. He hasn’t learned yet that courtiers can smell fear, like wild dogs but with fewer manners. But they haven’t figured out how to react to me yet. It’s not often they see a wicked Tevinter mage in their midst, and never one in the company of Andraste’s chosen, so they can’t decide whether to simper or sneer. So far, they’ve been alternating to test the results.”

Mahanon’s brows knitted in concern. “Have they been unkind to you? If they have—“

“You think this troubles me?” Dorian laughed. “Vivienne’s shown me more creative scorn before breakfast, and she’s got nothing on my mother. But _you_ look rather wilted, my dear Inquisitor. Is Orlesian hospitality not agreeing with you?”

“If this is their hospitality, I’d hate to see their hostility,” he grumbled.

Dorian simply laughed. “Oh, they look exactly the same; the only difference is that one ends with deathroot in the wine. Honestly, you could almost mistake this for a soiree in the Imperium. The same double-dealing, elegant poison, canapés ... it’s lacking only a few sacrificial slaves and some blood magic. But the night _is_ still young.”

“Somehow, that isn’t reassuring.”

“Hm. How about this: seeing Josephine, Leliana, and Vivienne on the same side and pooling their formidable knowledge and skills will be giving most of the court screaming nightmares for weeks. The average noble fears humiliation far more than death, as those three fine ladies well know. So, you only need to concern yourself with the assassins we came to stop.”

“Marginally better, but I still hate it here,” the elf replied.

“My, so difficult,” the mage teased. “Fine then, what if, when we get through this and return to Skyhold, we hole up in your quarters together until you’ve forgotten all but your name?”

The Inquisitor grinned. “In that case, please excuse me while I make short work of this assassination business. It seems I have an important appointment to keep.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the first time I’ve written Dorian; I hope I did him justice. :)


	11. Day 11: “But I will never forget!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Raven seeks comfort from a kindred spirit—of a sort.

It was silent in the basement of the Kinloch Hold. The remaining residents of the Circle Tower were bustling about the upper floors, tending their wounded and scrubbing away the remnants of the terrible slaughter they’d endured when some of the mages decided demon summoning was preferable to Chantry rule. But one woman sat alone on a stone bench in a room of artifacts, crying soundless tears near a statue worn with age. A bystander might have assumed the statue was just another relic, and the woman merely mourned the death of friends and colleagues.

But neither the woman nor the statue matched expectations. Eleni Zinovia was an ancient Tevinter seer, spirit-bound and imprisoned in stone for all eternity. And Raven Richards was an accidental immigrant from a distant world, who’d known and loved Thedas as a pleasant escapist fiction, but now struggled to understand she might never return home.

Raven’s river-blue eyes flowed over the Circle’s greatest treasures, unseeing and uncaring. Finally she spoke into the silence. “For all these years, you’ve seen the future, and the terrible things that would happen. But you couldn’t stop them. You could only wait inside your prison of stone and watch them take place.” She turned to the seer, unsure if eye contact even mattered to such a being, but needing it for herself as she begged the question that plagued her. “How did you endure it?”

“A heart of stone is not so easily damaged,” the figure replied in its hollow, ethereal voice. “Yours, I fear, will not fare so well.”

The woman gave a snort of mirthless laughter. “You don’t say. I had to walk out of Lothering knowing most of the people there would probably die, and there wasn’t a damn thing I could do beyond what I’d done already. And it wasn’t _enough_! It ... it wasn’t _enough_.” She swiped angrily at the tears sliding down her cheeks. “I’ve barely slept since, wondering if there was something I overlooked, some way I could have made them _listen_.” Raven rose, running an idle finger over a faded clay bowl on a nearby table.

The statue interrupted her heavy thoughts. “Have caution, traveler. There are things in this room more dangerous than I, and not to be toyed with.”

With a guilty look, the woman snatched her fingers away from the relic and crossed her arms, tucking her hands into her elbows. “Sorry. I just ... I thought I could handle all this. We’d figure out how to get back home, and then everything here would go on however it was supposed to. I wouldn’t have to constantly worry my decisions were going to destroy the world. And now you say I’m stuck here, and I don’t ... I don’t know how I can _deal_ with that.”

“You will weather this trial for the same reason anyone weathers any trial—there is no other choice. _You_ are not stone. You must move forward or perish, so move forward you shall.”

“But what if I screw it up, and change something I shouldn’t?!” Raven exploded, pacing in agitation. “Or what if it’s like Lothering, and they don’t listen?”

“My beloved once valued me and heeded my counsel. With my visions, Valerian became Archon. But he grew prideful and preferred to believe his success was his alone. When I foretold his fall, he cursed me to this stone prison. He made me eternal. I do not feel pain as I once did. But I will never forget!”

Raven waited, eyes wide. She’d spoken with the statue a number of times, but this was the most forthcoming the ancient seer had ever been. Her patience was rewarded when Eleni continued. “Doom came to Valerian. I questioned if I should have hidden my vision, or shouted it, or hid myself away altogether. There were no answers. But there was my son Hessarian, growing more powerful than his father, reviled and revered both for his treatment of the prophet Andraste, and central to one of the greatest eras of change in our long history.”

The young woman nodded, familiar with the tale. “It must have been difficult, wondering if things would’ve been different if you’d been there by his side.”

“Yes. But the lesson, traveler, is this: things happen as they must. Valerian believed he would alter fate. He did not. Some threads are longer or brighter, but all are connected, and the tapestry remains.”

Deep in thought, Raven bid the statue farewell, and went out to face her new reality.


	12. Day 12: “Who could do this?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a certain dwarven smith gets what’s coming to her.

“I think that’s the last of them, Boss,” said the Iron Bull. He wiped the gore from his greatsword on one of the dead Carta thugs who’d objected to surprise visitors to their red lyrium mining operation.

“Finally,” Marina Hawke agreed, as she finished cleaning her daggers. “That was a neat trick, Inquisitor, the way you blocked them in with that wall of ice. That’s one I haven’t seen before.”

Ashakost Adaar grinned. “I’ve impressed the great Champion of Kirkwall herself? Truly, I have reached the pinnacle of my worldly existence. Everything else will be downhill from here.”

Hawke rolled her eyes and was about to respond when Bull interjected. “Don’t believe her; she said the exact same thing the other night when I did this thing with—“

“Ohhhhkay,” Asha cut in. “I don’t think that’s a story we need to share with the Champion, kadan.”

Varric smirked. “At least not without a few pints of ale ... and knowing you two, a diagram.”

Their laughter was interrupted by the characteristically snide tone of the last member of their party, a dwarven smith named Bianca Davri. “I’m sure this is all very funny, but if we could maybe focus on the minor matter of shutting down this lyrium smuggling operation, that would be great.”

Asha bit back a retort when she caught Varric’s apologetic glance. He’d left the details hazy, but it was clear he’d been harboring feelings for Bianca for years, despite her family marrying her off to someone they considered more suitable. She had been the one who came to them about the lyrium smugglers and gotten them through a complex mechanical lock she’d installed during a previous visit, so Asha had tried her best to be pleasant.

But the arrogant dwarf certainly didn’t make it easy.

“I’m still trying to figure out how anyone found this place,” Hawke mused, as they continued further into the mine. “I know you said maybe one of the hirelings from our expedition leaked the location, Varric, but I don’t get that. They were all from Kirkwall; they would’ve known what harm even that one small piece of red lyrium caused. After seeing what it did to Meredith, who could do this?”

They’d reached the end of a hallway and found an alcove that seemed to be some sort of staging area. Torches illuminated a wide variety of barrels and crates, as well as a desk holding a large ledger, and another door with a complicated locking mechanism. The smith strode up eagerly, grasping a key that looked oddly similar to the one she’d used earlier. “There you are,” she said, sealing a passage that led deeper into the mine. “They won’t be able to use this entrance again.”

In the tense conversation that followed, Bianca revealed she’d been the one who leaked the location of the red lyrium mine. In her hubris, she’d believed she could safely study the substance, and brought in an assistant who ultimately used the site for nefarious purposes.

They argued. Varric growled how he’d warned her away from the place. Bianca knew she’d screwed up but claimed it was with good intentions. When he didn’t immediately capitulate to her argument, she devolved to petty insults. Finally, he walked off, disappointed and defeated, knowing someone he cared about had betrayed his trust.

Hawke and Asha exchanged a glance, worried about their friend. Bianca started to leave, but paused, turning to the women. With a menacing glare, she said, “Get him killed, and I’ll feed you your own eyeballs.”

And Asha’s temper snapped.

“That’s _it_.” With sudden and unexpected force, the tall Qunari grasped the edges of Bianca’s leather chestpiece and hoisted her up, slamming her against the wall. “First of all, you obnoxious _bitch_ , you can’t even _reach_ my eyeballs. I’ve faced down dragons and ancient magisters and come through alive; do you _really_ think I’m going to be intimidated by one conceited shrew with an attitude? But more importantly,” Asha glanced over and saw her anger mirrored on the Champion’s face. “More importantly, you don’t _get_ to tell me how to look out for Varric. You don’t get to tell _anybody_. Because the only person I see who’s betrayed his trust is _you_.”

Hawke was only too eager to join in, while Bianca was still speechless with shock. “For over ten years now, Varric and I have fought together, laughed together, and supported each other through some of the worst bullshit imaginable. And you know who I _didn’t_ see there? _You_.” The venom dripped from her voice as she got up in the dwarf’s face. “All these years, he watched his friends pair off, while he—one of the _finest people I’ve ever known_ —sat alone. _Because of you_. Because he was waiting for you to give him five minutes of your _precious bloody time_ , when you weren’t too busy telling the world how brilliant you are. Or getting doted on—you know, by your _husband_. If you really were as smart as you claim, and if you really cared about Varric, you’d have told your family to fuck off, married the man who loved you more than reason, and dealt with the consequences. But you’re too much of a _coward_ to _fight_ for him, and too _selfish_ to let him _go_.” Her eyes burning with scorn, she finished, “You’re _nothing_ , Bianca Davri. You’re nothing, and you’ll _never_ be good enough to deserve somebody like him.”

Asha released her hold on the dwarf and let her drop to the floor, dusting off her hands as if ridding herself of something foul. She and Hawke shared a brisk nod, and turned as one to where Bull and Varric stood open-mouthed at their display.

“Let’s go,” said Asha. “We’re done here.” The Inquisitor and the Champion strode to the exit with their friends in tow, leaving the stunned Bianca alone in the gloom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was completely self-indulgent because I’ve always wanted to be able to tell this chick off. I know you can't technically get this quest until after Adamant, but I bent the canon so Hawke could put in her two cents.
> 
> Feed me my eyeballs, indeed. Pfft. :P Lol.


	13. Day 13: “Try harder, next time.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cullen brings patients and Anders loses his.

Knight-Captain Cullen felt horribly out of place. Ragged figures of indeterminate description scurried away from his approach, tugging empty-eyed staring children in their wake. The air was thick with the odor of the ill and unwashed, layered over the pungent reek of trash and human waste, and a hint of stale fishy seawater. From the shadows, eyes tracked his movements, calculating whether the spoils of robbing him were worth the risk. He was in Darktown, where Kirkwall’s lowest wretches eked out the barest shreds of existence, and Cullen did not belong.

But he was nothing if not honorable, and he could hardly have left Hawke to die out on Sundermount when he’d only been there at Cullen’s request. Thus, here he was with Guard Captain Aveline and Varric Tethras, bearing an injured man to the clinic of the Darktown Healer. 

“Uh, Curly, you could ... you could let us take it from here; really, we can handle it.”

Cullen sighed. “Serah Tethras, as I’ve said several times now, I insist on seeing Hawke to the healer. You and the Guard Captain also sustained injuries, and I will not put additional strain on you without need. Is there a reason you continue to question me?” 

“No, no, not at all,” the dwarf assured him. “It’s just that the healer is—“

“A mage? Yes, I’m aware. It’s not a well-kept secret. I’m also aware the healer is a Grey Warden, and beyond the Chantry’s influence. And all of that is irrelevant to whether I would be so callous as to ask a man’s help and leave him to die afterward.” He shifted his hold on the unconscious Hawke. Aveline carried the heavier pieces of his armor, but still, the man was no light burden, and Cullen was eager to reach their destination without further delay.

“...far,” the dwarf finished lamely. “The clinic is at the other end of Darktown, so he’s far, is what I was going to say.” It took all Cullen’s discipline not to roll his eyes and challenge the obvious lie, especially when Varric and Aveline shared a significant look, but he kept his head up and focused on making haste. 

“Anders!” the dwarf yelled when they entered the clinic. “Get your ass out here; Hawke needs you!”

A gaunt man in a feathered robe rushed out from behind a screen, his brow knitted with concern. “Varric? What happened to—“ It was obvious when Anders took notice of Cullen; his face hardened into an angry mask. “What did you do to him, _templar_?” he spat, blue eyes flashing with anger.

“Whoa, easy, Blondie,” Varric soothed. “It isn’t the Knight-Captain’s fault. And he helped us get Hawke down here fast, so maybe save the soapbox rants for later.”

The mage’s nostrils flared as he clenched his fists, but he nodded curtly. “Yes. Of course.” He waved them over to the nearest empty cot and Cullen gently eased Hawke onto it, rolling his shoulders with relief. The mage bustled around his patient, taking in his pallor and shallow breaths, but found no visible wound. “What happened?”

“He was hit with a lightning spell,” Cullen said, and those unfriendly eyes turned on him again. _‘Hadn’t they been blue before, not brown?’_ The templar shook his head, focusing on essentials. “We had reports on more of the escaped Starkhaven mages. I did not wish to take a full company of templars and escalate the situation, so I requested Serah Hawke’s help in hope the apostates would be reasonable and surrender without further incident.”

“Spoiler alert—they didn’t,” the dwarf said dryly, wiping blood off a cut near his temple.

Anders had turned back to his patient, and his hands began to glow as he worked. The energy of the spell tingled over Cullen’s skin and set his teeth on edge, but he kept his face impassive as he’d been trained. After what seemed an eternity, Anders slumped, taking a deep breath and brushing a stray lock of hair out of his face with a shaking hand, but Hawke’s eyes finally opened. The mage gave him a smile of such tenderness it was hard to believe he was the same man who’d radiated malice only a moment before.

“We’ve got to stop meeting like this,” Hawke rasped weakly. “People will talk.”

Anders leaned down to embrace him, suspicious moisture at the corners of his eyes. “Then stop trying to get yourself killed, and you won’t keep waking up to see me hovering over you in a clinic.”

“I’d rather wake up to see you hovering over me at home,” Hawke replied. Cullen blushed and rubbed the back of his neck as the pair shared a gentle kiss. Clearly, his presence was no longer required; he headed for the door.

A hand on his elbow stopped him. “Wait,” Anders asked. “ What happened to the mages?”

Aveline and Varric exchanged a look, before she spoke up. “They refused to stand down. They resorted to blood magic, and all four of them became abominations. We had no choice but to kill them.”

The mage inhaled sharply, clenching his jaw. His icy blue glare fell on Cullen once again, and he resisted the urge to take a step back. “The next time you feel the need for a field trip to murder innocents, _templar_ , use your own men instead of putting my friends at risk.”

“Think what you will, _mage_ ,” Cullen said, an edge to his tone, “but I did _not_ go there intending to kill those people. _They_ refused a peaceful resolution. I was trying to do what was right.”

The mage’s animosity was a near-physical force. “Try harder, next time.”


	14. Day 14: “Some people call this wisdom.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Wynne and Morrigan have a pleasant chat.

“So, old woman, are you pleased your wayward student escaped your Circle’s leash to join the Dalish, rather than being murdered by Chantry thugs as you expected?” Morrigan’s smile was laced with spite, as they set up camp in the Brecilian Forest.

As usual, Wynne refused to be baited. Breathing deep of the pine-scented air, she replied calmly. “Yes, I am quite relieved to find him doing well. I had feared I’d caused his doom because of the cruel superiority I showed in my youth ... but I’m sure you wouldn’t know anything about an attitude like that, would you, dear?”

Morrigan laughed. “Ah, the old cat still has her claws, I see. Yes, I’m certain that once your rough edges wore away and you grew accustomed to the leash of your templar masters, life became so much easier. How freeing, to be rid of the need to think for oneself!“

“A life in the Circle is hardly devoid of thought; quite the opposite, in fact. All our needs were provided for, enabling us to focus on study and research, and honing our skills.”

“ _All_ your needs? Truly? And I thought your Chantry frowned on fornication!”

Wynne’s lips pressed together in disapproval. “You would make it vulgar, wouldn’t you? Given how you strut about half-dressed, I should hardly be surprised.”

“I dress as I please, old woman, and I do not require your permission or approval for that or anything else. That sort of freedom must be hard for you to comprehend, but I trust you can grasp it if you try.”

“There is no point in discussing this further with you, Morrigan. The bottom line is this: I am well-aware there are problems with the Circle, but there would be chaos without it, so I work for change within the system,” the older mage said dryly. “Some people call this wisdom.”

“’Tis true, some people might _call_ it that,” the witch answered, a mocking smirk on her lips. “But one may take a nug and call it Andraste as much as one wishes; saying it does not make it so.”


	15. Day 15: “I thought you had forgotten.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ambassador Montilyet’s evening does not go as planned.

Josephine Montilyet was a difficult woman to surprise.

_‘Well,’_ Serena Trevelyan amended mentally, _‘I suppose that depends on the nature of the surprise. Naturally, I had to choose a complicated one.’_ She didn’t regret the decision, despite the effort involved; imagining her beloved’s delighted response had her giddy. But she blessed Leliana yet again, because this plan would’ve been impossible without the spymistress’s help.

The most difficult bit had been contriving a reason for them to travel to Val Royeaux which would be believable but not alarming. Leliana had arranged for Josie to receive a cleverly falsified diplomatic overture from an elderly but influential noble, and intercepted the ambassador’s response affirming she and the Inquisitor would be pleased to visit.

At one point, Serena had almost given up and revealed the plan. On the evening of the supposed meeting, she begged off at the last moment, citing an unavoidable and urgent matter with the Red Jennies. Josie fretted about the noble’s potential offense at the snub, and her frantic dismay nearly melted Serena’s resolve. But again, the spymistress came through, promising all would be well and the Inquisitor would rejoin them before the senile noble even took notice. Leliana spirited Josie off in a closed carriage for a circuitous trip around Val Royeaux, and Serena rushed off.

Now, she stood in the private box she’d reserved at the Opera Hall, fidgeting with the sleeves of her gown. She’d already arranged and rearranged the table holding Josie’s favorite imported Carastian chocolates and a lovely bottle of red wine from Tevinter. How much longer until—

The doors opened, and Josie was already apologizing. “My Lord du Récit, I am so sorry for the delay; I—“ She blinked, taking in the sight of her beloved. “... Serena?”

The inquisitor grinned. “Happy birthday!” She stepped closer and popped one of the tiny, delicate chocolates into her love’s mouth while it hung open in surprise. The ambassador flung her arms around Serena’s neck, giving an uncharacteristically undignified squeak.

Finally she pulled away, eyes suspiciously damp. “I can’t believe you did all this, for me! I ... I thought you had forgotten, to be quite honest. Not that it upset me,” she amended, with flustered haste. “You have the fate of the world resting on you, and I hardly expected you to focus on such a trivial thing. But you did! How did you even manage it?”

“You are in no way trivial, my darling. As to how—Leliana, of course,” Serena chuckled.

Josie rolled her eyes. “Ugh, I _knew_ that carriage wasn’t detoured by a wagon blocking the street like she said! Oh! But ... I hate to ask this, but what about Lord du Récit?”

“Firmly in favor of the Inquisition, no meeting required, and quite tickled we used his name to provide a well-deserved boon to such a lovely woman.”

Near the stage below, the instruments began tuning, indicating the opera would soon begin. Serena picked up two glasses of wine, holding one out to Josephine. “A toast, celebrating the anniversary of when the world was first graced with my brilliant, beautiful beloved.”

Blushing, Josie rose her glass. “To devious friends and true love.”

The first notes of music only enhanced a kiss flavored with wine and joy.


	16. Day 16: “This is gonna be so much fun!”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Garrett Hawke gets propositioned.

“Come with me to Chateau Haine; I’ll explain everything on the way. If nothing else, you get fine wine and fancy company.”

Garrett Hawke leaned on his staff, scratching his beard thoughtfully. The ginger-haired elf was beautiful and lethal, two of his favorite things, so it was tempting to agree to her request and hang the consequences. “Hang the consequences” was practically his personal motto.

But Tallis obviously wasn’t telling them everything, and they’d already faced one ambush just to _meet_ the woman. It was clear stealing the gem she wanted would mean facing grave danger, braving deadly intrigue, and worst of all, socializing with Orlesians. These were all important factors to consider.

So, he took a full ten seconds to decide. “All right; you’re on,” Hawke grinned. “My weekend plans were dull anyway.”

“Excellent! How soon can you be ready to leave?”

“I’ll have to stop by the estate and pack, but then we can leave whenever you like. I assume I’ll need my regular gear for Duke Prosper’s little hunt, and then something formal and uncomfortable to wear to some ghastly excuse for a party afterward?”

The elf laughed. “Yes, that sounds about right. You shouldn’t need anything special beyond that.”

“Well, I always like to bring my nicest smallclothes if a beautiful woman might see me in them.”

Tallis smirked. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun!”

It promised to be interesting, if nothing else. And as Varric noted, it was hardly a crime to steal from Orlesians; some would consider it a public service.

 _‘A Champion’s work is never done,’_ he thought, as he watched the lithe redhead walk away.


	17. Day 17: “I’ll tell you but you’re not gonna like it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Alistair meets an old rival in an unexpected place.

“Ugh, this thing is too tight,” Alistair said, tugging on his tie for the third time since they’d entered the glass-and-chrome lobby of Redcliffe Investments. “I hate having to dress up for this. I was already nervous about messing up the presentation; now I have to do it while choking to death.”

“Don’t be so dramatic.” They boarded the elevator, and Solona straightened his tie with a laugh, before leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “You’ll be fine. They’ll love us. Besides,” she added with a grin, “you clean up well. I have to admit, I definitely don’t mind seeing you in a suit.”

He raised a brow. “Why, Ms. Amell, are you ... are you _flirting_ with me? I’m appalled and shocked. And here I thought we were professionals!”

“We are, but since our company currently only has two employees, I haven’t gotten around to writing any rules about fraternization yet. Good thing, hmm?”

The elevator chimed and opened before he could answer, and he took a deep breath. Years of brainstorming, experimenting, failed attempts ... all the effort he and Solona had put into developing their prototype all came down to this presentation. To calm his nerves, he reminded himself their design was solid and vitally needed. Currently, anyone concerned about magical attacks had to employ templars for full-time monitoring, but the sensor he and Solona designed had the ability to detect magic. Their work would revolutionize the security industry ... assuming they could get it funded.

“Good afternoon. We have two o’clock appointment with the review board,” Solona said to the receptionist.

“Of course, Ms. Amell. Eamon and his brother have been eagerly awaiting your presentation. We’ll be delayed just a few moments; my apologies. Connor Guerrin is our technical specialist, but he was unavailable, so Ms. Mac Tir flew in from our Denerim office to fill in. Her flight was delayed, but she’ll be here momentarily.” The man nodded pleasantly toward a posh waiting area.

Alistair paled. “Uh, excuse me ... would that be _Anora_ Mac Tir, by chance?” The receptionist looked at him oddly, but nodded. Solona thanked him and pulled Alistair to the waiting area by the elbow.

“What is it?” she said, eyeing him with concern. “What’s wrong?”

“Wrong? Why would anything be wrong?” His attempt at reassurance fell flat when his voice broke with strain, and Solona rolled her eyes.

“Alistair. You look like a bus just ran over your grandma. Spill it.”

He closed his eyes, rubbing his forehead. Several years ago, he and Anora Mac Tir had applied for the same internship at Royal Innovations, a tech design firm in Denerim. Their interview process was weirdly cutthroat; the team sat them side-by-side and made them argue their credentials in front of each other. Anora was obviously more qualified ... but the interview team chose him. The glare she’d leveled at him was so icy he shivered just remembering it; then she’d turned that fearsome gaze on the panel and calmly asked if they’d care to explain why they refused to hire female engineers.

Alistair had the sinking feeling she was right about them, and he was only chosen because he was male. So, when another opportunity opened up at Warden TechSystems, he chose that instead. Anora had ended up with the job at Royal, but he could just imagine how welcoming they were after she’d accused them all of sexism. He’d seen her a few times in passing after that, and though she was always cordial, it was clear she loathed him.

And now she would have the main vote on whether their work got funded.

“Hey, are you in there?” Solona bit her lip, examining his expression with wide eyes. “Seriously, tell me what’s going on! You’re freaking me out here.”

He took a deep breath. “Okay, I’ll tell you, but you’re not gonna like it.”


	18. Day 18: “You should have seen it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Inquisitor Cadash gets ready to run interference for her mischievous girlfriend.

Malika Cadash followed the sound of laughter out to the stables, where she found Sera regaling Warden Blackwall with the tale of her latest practical joke. “Oi, Inky-love, you got here just in time. I was just gettin’ to the good part.”

The Inquisitor’s stern look was ruined by the fond gleam in her eye; she could never stay mad at her favorite elf, no matter how many times she got treated to rants from Sera’s many victims. And really, she was careful—mostly—so that no one was wounded in anything but their dignity. “Dare I ask what you did this time, my insane darling?”

Blackwall chuckled. “Oh, I think you’d better. You’ll want to be prepared for the earful you’ll get about this one. It was right clever, I’ll give her that, but Cullen is going to want her head on a pike when he catches her.”

“Of course it would be Cullen. Ancestors, Sera; you couldn’t pick somebody else for a change?”

“Not my fault General Uptight lives up his own arse. He’d be more fun if he took off those jackboots now and again, yeah?” Sera brushed her choppy blond hair from her eyes with an unrepentant smirk.

Cadash raised an eyebrow. “So what did you do?”

The elf’s eyes widened with excitement. “So you know that beehive Mother Giselle was complaining about, said it needed to be moved, the bees were scarin’ the nobles?” She snorted. “Stupid gits; dump a gallon of flower perfume on yourself, it’s gonna draw bees, innit?”

“Sera. You’re stalling.”

Sera stuck her tongue out. And then, because she was herself, she made a vee with her fingers and held them up to her mouth before sticking her tongue out a second time, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively before dissolving into laughter. “Okay, fine, fine, you win, Inkypoo. I decided to help Giselle by getting rid of that beehive for her, out of the pure goodness of my heart.”

“And what does this have to do with Cullen?” The dwarf’s stomach sank; with a setup like that, this was headed nowhere good.

“Every day after lunch, he uses that same practice dummy in the yard, yeah? I might have _improved_ it.”

The Inquisitor’s jaw dropped. “You _didn’t_.”

She grinned. “Did. You should have seen it! He was all ‘Rawr, look at me wave my big manly sword around, AAGGH BEES!!’” She collapsed into helpless giggles again. Blackwall joined her, and after a moment, even Malika had to giggle, imagining Cullen running away from the practice yard to escape a swarm. Granted, it was a little more dangerous than Sera’s usual pranks, but Cullen was a lifelong warrior; a bee sting or two would be less pain than he got in an average sparring session, and it was nothing that wouldn’t be righted with a little elfroot.

Their mirth was cut off by Cullen’s enraged yell from outside the stable. “SERA!!”

The elf and the dwarf exchanged a panicked glance, and dove behind some hay bales, hoping Blackwall was good enough at acting innocent to fool Cullen.


	19. Day 19: “Oh please, like this is the worst I have done.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Oghren’s usual charm makes Sigrun and Warden-Commander Aeducan think of home.

Warden-Commander Sereda Aeducan had many moments where she questioned her sanity. Lately, a majority of them revolved around the question of why she’d allowed Oghren Kondrat to join the Wardens. It had been bad enough when he was following her around Ferelden during the Blight, but now she was well and truly stuck with him.

She supposed things could look up; maybe he’d get eaten by darkspawn. Or she would. At this point, either would be an improvement.

“All right, a fine evening out, just Oghren and the ladies,” the ginger-haired warrior said, scratching his backside.

“I’m _right here_ ,” Anders protested.

Oghren laughed. “My mistake, mage. I was confused by the skirt. Heh heh.”

“Just one of the long list of things that confuse you, no doubt. Right up there with manners and personal hygiene.” Anders grinned when his jibe drew chuckles from Sereda and Sigrun.

“Yes, however could we resist a man with such charm,” the Warden-Commander said dryly.

“Don’t worry, Warden; there’s plenty Oghren to go around.” The warrior punctuated his smarmy line with a leer and a belch.

“Naturally; there will always be leftovers of a dish no one wants,” Aeducan smiled sweetly.

“Ooh, that hurts me, Warden; it cuts me deep. I might need somebody to kiss it and make it better.”

“Oghren, are you really hitting on us while we’re in the middle of fighting darkspawn in the Deep Roads? Really??” she growled in exasperation.

“Oh please, like this is the worst I have done,” Oghren waved away her annoyance. “What about that time I got drunk and pissed on Branka’s statue in the Hall of Heroes?”

Sigrun chimed in. “Oh, even I heard about that one! One of the other Carta runners I knew was waiting to meet a surfacer contact, and saw the whole thing.”

“Heh, got an eyeful, did she?”

_“He_ said the only thing worth noting was the amount of gold in your belt pouch, which he happily lifted while you were drooling on the statue and asking why it left you.”

“I remember that too,” Sereda said. “Father had to pay double to find someone in the servant caste willing to clean up the place after.”

Sigrun opened her mouth to speak, thought better of it, and closed it again, but the Warden Commander took notice. “What is it?”

The normally perky woman self-consciously rubbed the brand on her cheek. “It’s nothing; I just ... sometimes it’s hard for me to wrap my head around all this. When we were all in Orzammar, you were the _daughter of the king_. Even _Oghren_ was nobility. And I ... was down in the slums with the other casteless brats, hoping to find a nice rat so we could eat for the first time all week. It’s just strange.”

Aeducan flushed with shame. In her old life, she’d never given much thought to the plight of the casteless; everyone simply accepted that was how things were, and that was that. After she was exiled, she gained a better understanding of what the oppressed endured so people like her could live in comfort, and she regretted she hadn’t bothered to help her own people when she had a chance.

But of course, she still had people to serve.

“Whatever we were before, Sigrun ... we’re all Wardens now.” The two women shared a smile, until Oghren predictably ruined the moment.

“That’s a real nice thing to say; puts a tear in ol’ Oghren’s eye, it does. What say we all head back to camp to cement this whole togetherness thing we got goin’ on?”

The two dwarven women turned and walked away without a word, and with a roll of his eyes, Anders followed.

“Is that a no?” Oghren called after them.


	20. Day 20: “I hope you have a speech prepared.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which King Maric reclaims his rightful throne.

Rowan’s eyes were clouded with worry as Maric finished donning his armor, but Loghain knew she was too seasoned a warrior to bring up fears of failure on the brink of battle. Instead, she smiled bravely and tied a bright strip of cloth around his arm. “As a sign of your lady’s favor,” she said.

He leaned forward to place a gentle kiss on her forehead. “My lady, and after today, my queen.” They embraced, and Loghain turned away. He had his own wife now, tending their infant daughter back in Gwaren. Rowan was with Maric where she belonged, and for a wonder, he had grown wise enough to appreciate her. All was as it should be, he told himself firmly. Someday, he might even believe it.

The two men clasped arms before Maric left the arming tent. Unspoken in their gaze was all the fighting, the blood and pain, the sacrifice they’d endured over the years, all leading to this day, when Maric would face Meghren the Usurper in single combat. “I will not fail,” Maric swore.

Loghain nodded. “I know.”

He and Rowan took their seats on their side of the carefully negotiated dueling ground as Maric walked alone to his place and stood in silent readiness, his fine armor well-tended but nonetheless showing signs of the hard fighting he’d endured to regain his kingdom. Meghren, meanwhile, strutted in front of his supporters on the other side, demanding they cheer for him ... but their cries were as ragged as their countenances after weeks of living under siege. Meghren himself had not suffered the same deprivation he forced upon his few remaining men, of course, and his lion-embossed armor glinted in the warm sun, unmarked and shining.

“Maric will succeed,” Loghain said to Rowan. “He’s been fighting constantly over the years while that Orlesian pig sat in his stolen throne and ordered others to do his dirty work. The only person with a high opinion of Meghren’s skill is Meghren.”

The corner of Rowan’s mouth quirked; she doubtless realized he spoke to convince himself as much as her, but was too kind to say so. And then the duel began, and there was no more time for talking.

Within moments, he knew Maric would prevail. Meghren dueled like what he was, a man trained by those who never expected him to see combat. His initial feints to test Maric’s defenses were showy and punctuated with flourishes that looked impressive but served no purpose. Maric, on the other hand, had been fighting for his life for years now, some of it through the Deep Roads with no insulating army between himself and death. He fended off Meghren’s slashes with a minimum of effort and an economy of motion. Loghain’s hands clenched into fists as he caught hints of the taunting spittle-laden insults the Orlesian hurled between strikes, but for once, Maric remained silent, and waited for the mad usurper to tire himself out.

Loghain saw the opening before Meghren did; Maric’s guard dropped just enough on his off side that he left himself open, and the false king bled him at the shoulder. Meghren half-turned to his admirers, drinking in their fluttering praise ... but it had been an act. Maric took advantage of his opponent’s wavering attention to rush him, knocking the man on his back. Before the fool could register what had happened to him, Maric’s blade drove down through his chest.

The bloody reign of Meghren the Usurper was over, and Ferelden once more belonged to her people.

Moments later, amid the cacophony of wild celebration and joyful tears, they found Maric in the arming tent, his minor wound already being healed by one of their mages. Rowan’s face was wet, but she beamed like the sun itself. “You did it! You did it, Maric; it’s finally over!” A hint of loss lent poignancy to her voice as she added , “Your mother and my father would both have been proud.”

Maric’s eyes flicked to Loghain. “We all did it; the two of you were as responsible for our victory as I, if not more so. I pray we have honored the sacrifices all our families made to get us here. I won’t forget them.”

Loghain gave one of his famously rare smiles, banishing the somber moment. “I hope you have a speech prepared; your subjects are clamoring to hear you talk. They don’t realize what they’re getting themselves into.” 

“I can hardly help it if the kingdom wants to bask in my wit and charm,” the king answered with a grin.

“Maric,” Rowan said fondly, brushing some dirt from his face, “shut up.”


	21. Day 21: “Impressive, truly.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Aveline determines which Hawke is the toughest person in the gym, and it’s neither.

Garrett Hawke and his brother Carver were regulars at the gym, and she had to admit they were nice to look at. But no amount of rippling muscle could make up for their ridiculous rivalry. Aveline had been checking them in at the front desk for years now, and without fail, they tried to one-up each other on literally everything. If Garrett set a machine with 20 pound weights, Carver would increase it to 25. If Carver did ten pull-ups, Garrett did 15, each making sly little digs about the other’s performance.

But today, they’d taken it to the next level, and started an impromptu competition on one of the arm machines. Back and forth they went, each trying to increase the weight and reps from what his brother had done last. If it continued much longer, one of them was going to end up injured, and that meant a big pile of paperwork she’d have to wade through. 

Aveline had finally had enough.

Walking over to the pair, she nodded in greeting before starting to set up the machine right beside the one they were using, for the same exercise they were doing. “So, how much weight are you guys up to?” she asked in a nonchalant tone.

“I’m at fifty pounds and my little brother is at forty,” Garrett answered promptly with a grin.

“Forty-five,” growled Carver. “But it’s my turn next, so—“

“Impressive, truly,” Aveline interrupted, setting the weights on her machine to a hundred pounds, before beginning a set with barely-noticeable strain.

She might be a little sore later ... but their open-mouthed shock and flushes of embarrassment were totally worth it.


	22. Day 22: “I know how you love to play games.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Warden Mahariel wakes up with his favorite assassin.

“A good morning to you, my Warden,” Zevran purred in his Antivan lilt, when Mahariel opened his eyes, stretching in the warm sun bleeding through the walls of their tent. “Although from where I sit, the morning looks quite good already.”

Theron smiled, rolling over and pulling his lover down against his side. “The things you say.” A long look into now-familiar brown eyes sobered him—elven eyes like his own, like the eyes of the clan he’d been forced to leave behind. He traced the tattoo on Zevran’s cheek in quiet distress at how easily he could’ve lost this man without ever knowing him. _“Somnia, vhenan,”_ he breathed, _“Sa da’shem’assan unelan ma ve’verem ...”_ *

Zevran smiled, leaning closer until his forehead rested on Theron’s lips. “Your lovely words seem at odds with your sad eyes, my Dalish darling, though I cannot yet understand them all. What troubles you?”

Trying to shake off his sudden melancholy, Theron shrugged. “Just remembering how glad I am you were too fast for Leliana’s arrows. How easily I might have lost you before I found you ...”

“Hmm, that is true,” Zevran agreed. “How fortunate for me our talented bard was having an off day. And that you decided on a friendly interrogation rather than delivering the punishment I rightly deserved.” The assassin snuggled closer, sliding a leg over Theron’s hip with a smirk. “Of course, if you wish to reconsider, you may always interrogate me more strenuously and punish me at your leisure. I must warn you, however; as a Crow I received much training in how to withstand such things, so your techniques may have to become ... creative.”

The Warden chuckled, amused as always by Zevran’s outrageous flirtation. “I can see I’ll have to put some thought into it, then. I know how you love to play games; I wouldn’t want to disappoint you.”

“You could never disappoint me.” Their mouths met gently at first, but with increasing heat. Theron slid his tongue over his lover’s lips, and felt him pressing against his thigh, drawing moans from them both.

And then he froze at the sound of someone pointedly clearing his throat outside the tent.

“I understood we were leaving for Orzammar at first light,” Sten said, his disdain carrying through the tent walls. “But it appears our Grey Warden leader has something better to do.”

Mahariel flushed with embarrassment, which grew exponentially when Zevran answered, “Does that make me ‘something better’? Why, my dear Sten, I believe that is the nicest thing you have ever said to me. I am deeply touched.”

“Given the sounds you were making, I believe you,” the Qunari deadpanned.

Theron pulled the covers over his head, hiding his furious blush while Zevran laughed in wicked delight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * ”To dream, my love, that one quick little arrow could have taken you away.”  
> (My Elvish grammar is probably terrible, but I’m not Dalish, so there it is.)


	23. Day 23: “This is not new, it only feels like it.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Warden Amell gives her cousin Hawke a warning.

“Why are we out here, again?”

Solona Amell smiled at Alistair’s hesitant question. It was odd to think she’d known him so briefly when they’d been through so much; she already couldn’t imagine doing any of this without him. But, with so little chance to discuss mundane things, she hadn’t mentioned her Lothering cousins.

Her _apostate_ cousins. The thought brought her up short. He wasn’t a templar any longer, and seemed comfortable with her magic, but how would he react to the Hawkes? Better to find out before they got there, she supposed, and paused, leaning against a nearby fence.

“So, you know I came from the Kinloch Circle,” she began, studying the cloudless blue bowl of the springtime sky as she planned her words.

“Yeeeeesss?” he prompted, curious.

“I came from nobility in Kirkwall, and having one child who turns out to be a mage is quite the scandal.” At the pained quirk of her lips, Alistair took her hand, and her expression shifted to a true smile. “My family had five. My mother disappeared in shame, and we were all sent to different Circles.”

“I’m so sorry, Solona; that’s awful,” he said; his amber eyes mourned her lost childhood with such sincerity it made her stomach flutter.

She squeezed his hand. “It’s all right; I was lucky. My experience was better than most. But one day a Grey Warden visited the tower to look over the apprentices, and she took me aside. This Warden, Janeka, said I had promise, and proposed a sort of test. My mother’s cousin Leandra had fallen in love with a mage named Malcolm Hawke, she explained. He’d helped the Wardens with ...something—she didn’t say what—so in return, they helped the couple escape to Ferelden. Two of their three children were mages as well. So...” she bit her lip hesitating, and he tilted his head encouragingly. “Janeka told me to stay alert for ways I might help them.”

Alistair’s eyes were round as suns, and Solona feared he was appalled at her heresy, but she soldiered on. “For years I sent letters to a ‘friend.’ Mostly they were mundane, especially at first, but mixed in were things like, ‘Such a fuss today! Templars were running about, preparing to hunt some mad maleficar in Amaranthine; I hope none of them are hurt!’ And the Warden’s contact would send my letter on to the Hawkes so they could stay safe.” She bit her lip. “I don’t hate the Chantry, Alistair; my life wasn’t so bad, but ... but that’s not true for everyone. And if the Wardens said the Hawkes could live together as a family, I couldn’t bring myself to disagree.”

Deep in thought, Alistair nodded absently. “I never met a Janeka, but it’s only been six months since my Joining. You say she set the whole thing up?” She bobbed her head in confirmation. “I’m ... not entirely sure _what_ to think about this, but I do believe you were trying to do what was right. And even if I _wanted_ to turn someone in as an apostate—I don’t, but _if_ I did—there’s no one to report to in this chaos anyway.” He shrugged. “So, we’re going out to ... what? Say hello?”

“More or less, yes, and to make sure they get out of here. They were never able to write me back, so I’ve always been curious about them, and I suppose I’m sort of invested in their safety after all this time.”

They continued down the dirt road before he spoke again. “Solona ... what made you bring me along, and not Morrigan?”

She stopped and looked up into his caramel eyes. “I don’t trust Morrigan,” she said simply.

“But you trust me?”

“Yes.”

A hint of his usual self-deprecating humor peeked out, when he asked, “Why?”

“I just do.” He was closer than she’d realized, and she could feel the heat from his body like a frisson of electricity over her skin. The sudden temptation to move nearer was so great, she swayed slightly; to cover her breathless confusion, she gave him a grin and a wink. “I have a hunch you’d be a terrible liar.”

“You’re not wrong,” he laughed.

________________________________________

“So it really is a Blight?” Marian Hawke asked, eyes wide. Solona nodded. The happy meeting with her cousins had been cut short by necessity, as she warned them of the coming danger. Alistair stood behind her, feeling out of place.

No one could doubt their kinship after seeing them all together. Their features were all similar, and Marian had Solona’s striking blue eyes. But where Bethany was shy and Solona wore cool determination as a cloak, Marian Hawke felt like a mountain of sticks doused in lantern oil, waiting for a spark. He supposed it made no difference, really. The world was already ablaze; what was one more bonfire?

He was startled from his thoughts by Leandra Hawke. “I know you’re busy, but let me at least get you some tea before you have to run off again.” Solona started to decline, but Alistair’s stomach chose that point to growl loudly. He blushed as the women chuckled at his discomfiture. “That settles it,” Leandra said. “Warden Alistair, could you help me a moment?”

Alistair followed the older woman to the next room, and she spoke again. “I have a soft spot in my heart for Wardens. If it weren’t for your fellows, I don’t know what we would’ve done.”

“Yes, Solona mentioned the Wardens helped you escape the Marches.”

“And what did you think of that?” Leandra’s gaze was calm, assessing.

“I ... don’t know, to be honest. I was raised in the Chantry, but I slept through most of it,” he joked. “It seems to me if you all survived this long without anyone turning into a demon and ravaging the countryside, you’re probably all right.”

“Smart lad,” Leandra smiled. “I see why she likes you.” Before he could ponder that, she handed him a tray heavily laden with bread and cheese. He decided she was his favorite new adopted relative.

When they returned, Bethany was discussing the whereabouts of her twin, Carver. “I’m not worried,” she said stubbornly. “It might sound foolish, but I ... I would know if something happened to him.”

At Solona’s skeptical look, Marian frowned and leapt immediately to her sister’s defense. “It’s true! One time he got into it with some asshole at the tavern making perverted comments about Beth. The guy asked him to step outside—turned out he had a couple of friends waiting. They beat up Carver and dumped him in a ditch, but Beth led us straight to him and patched him up. And then,” she grinned, baring her teeth. “Then he and I found the gentlemen and explained to them the error of their ways.

Leandra sighed. “That’s our Carver; hotheaded defender of our family honor, with Marian at the ready for backup. But she’s not wrong; if Bethany says Carver’s all right, I believe her.”

“If you say so,” Solona replied, while Alistair busily munched his way through the food everyone else was ignoring. “Just ... promise me you won’t wait too long to leave, will you? I’ve seen what’s coming, and ...” For once, she let her composure slip, and he saw her tired fear at the enormity of their task. Without thinking, he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder; she covered it with one of her own and gave him a smile, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“This is nothing new, my dear.”

Solona frowned at Leandra in consternation. “Not new? How so? A Blight is coming and we’re the only two Wardens left. Somehow we’re supposed to find all these different groups of people and talk them into building an army, though we’ve no idea what we’re doing. I wouldn’t call it an average Tuesday.”

The older woman smiled, tucking a strand of elegant silver hair behind her ear. “This is not new; it only feels like it. Stop thinking of the magnitude, and focus on the problem itself. Remember when you wrote last summer about the experiment you wanted to do, but none of your instructors would cooperate?”

“Yes, but I don’t see what—”

“What did you do?”

“I ... talked them into it I suppose?”

“You dealt with _one task at a time_. When you finished getting approval from one instructor, you moved on to the next, rather than seeing everything all at once and becoming discouraged.” She smiled. “When I first left Kirkwall, I didn’t even know how to boil water. I looked at all I needed to learn and despaired ... but a Warden traveling with us took pity on me. She said, ‘You can’t climb a mountain in one step, child. Learn _one thing_. When that’s done, pick _another_ thing. That’s it; that’s all life is.’”

Solona blinked, and Alistair’s own surprise was mirrored on her face. Surely it couldn’t be that simple.

... but maybe it could?

When they left the Hawkes a short time later, laden with blankets and other useful supplies, Solona was lost in thought. “I like your cousins,” Alistair reflected. “And not just because they fed me, though that was definitely a point in their favor.”

She giggled. “Me too. I’m glad I finally got the chance to meet them. Marian’s certainly ...”

“Fierce? Slightly terrifying? The sort of person not to annoy if you value the condition and placement of your internal organs?”

“I was going to go with ‘intense,’ but you’re not wrong,” she laughed, before sobering. “Alistair ... do you really think we can do this?”

“If it was just me, well, I can barely remember which end of the pants to put my feet in of a morning. But you ...” He studied her face for a long moment. “You’ve already overcome everything set before you, and cheated death itself. I believe you can do anything. And I’ll do all in my power to help you.”

Something unspoken passed between them, and she reached out, lacing her fingers with his. Hand in hand, they walked back into Lothering.


	24. Day 24: “You know this, you know this to be true.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Cole is Cole, and Vivienne does not approve.

“My dear Inquisitor, might I have a word?”

Maxwell Trevelyan sighed. With Vivienne, he’d quickly learned, “a word” inevitably meant a snide dressing-down about a near-infinite variety of topics, most of which he found tedious. The woman was undeniably skilled, and though he did not precisely _share_ her opinion on the Circles, his experience in Ostwick was not without value. But she clearly thrived on the Orlesian Grand Game, while the more times he was forced to deal with it, the more he wished the entire court and their ridiculous masks straight to the Void.

He knew better than to think he’d avoid her lectures, however; the woman was as tenacious as a Mabari. He smirked inwardly at the disdain she’d have for that comparison, while schooling his expression into something blandly pleasant; might as well get it over with, he thought.

“Yes, Lady Vivienne?”

“I heard the strangest rumor today, darling. I’m certain it cannot be true, so I came to you directly to address the matter. Surely you have not been reckless enough to recruit a demon to the Inquisition?”

To Vivienne’s credit, she never flinched when Cole appeared from thin air at her elbow. “Oh, no, I’m not a demon. Not anymore. I’m me now.”

“Maxwell dear, you cannot truly mean to allow this creature access to the heart of your organization, wielding more blades than sense? You trained at Ostwick as I did; you must realize demons cannot be trusted. It is only a matter of time until it turns on you, or causes you to turn on others. You know this; you know this to be true.”

“I don’t want to hurt. I want to help,” Cole said, in his soft singsong voice. “So many hurts. Even you—falling Haven, Herald hurting, down in darkness, bleeding, broken, was it enough? Is it ever enough?—you saved them. You helped them. They all saw.”

The Inquisitor, still unused to the title, gave the spirit a melancholy smile. “Thank you, Cole. I hope you’re right about that.”

“She thinks I can never be right, about that, about anything. Demons dragging down to doubting, dreaming death, watching, waiting, wicked. But I am not like that. I only want to help. So many edges, sharp and biting—why are you afraid, Vivienne?”

The First Enchanter’s lips pressed into an angry line. “I do not fear demons. I destroy them, as any reasonable person should do. But if you insist on such an ill-considered approach, my dear Inquisitor, I can only hope others with more sense are present to save you from yourself when your new pet shows its true nature.” She turned with every iota of her usual flawless poise and strolled off as if the whole exchange was simply an idle chat to pass the time, but Max knew the discussion wasn’t over.

Cole watched her leave with a puzzled air. “I don’t understand why her words and her thoughts don’t match. A box of glittering metal with broken glass locked inside, key lost. It must be lonely.”

“That’s as may be, Cole, but I don’t think she would appreciate your help, despite your good intentions,” Max said. “It’s probably best if you leave her alone for now. I’m sure plenty of other people in Skyhold would benefit from your assistance.”

“Yes,” he agreed, before fixing the Inquisitor with his oddly piercing stare. “But it’s sad. Tired, trapped in a perfect prison she put up herself, cells of conviction and control. She thinks she is so different from Solas, but they are more alike than she knows.” And with that, the spirit-boy vanished, leaving Max to ponder yet another of his odd pronouncements.


	25. Day 25: “Go forward, do not stray.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Divine Justinia uses her Hands.

“Are you sure we should both leave, with things as they are?”

In a richly appointed chamber deep in the heart of the Grand Cathedral in Val Royeaux, the Most Holy Divine Justinia V rolled her eyes at her two most trusted servants. “For the fiftieth time, yes. You worry too much, Leliana; I will be fine. Many roads lie before us, and none of them are smooth. We must have every advantage we can scrape together if we have any prayer of creating peace. Locating the Champion will give us knowledge we sorely need ... and perhaps even a leader the mages will accept.”

Cassandra frowned. “Forgive me, Most Holy, but ... you are not concerned about bringing a mage—especially one so notorious—into your confidence? Lord Seeker Lucius is yet new in his role, so I do not know him well, but Lambert certainly would have seen it as a challenge to his authority.”

Justinia snorted. “Lambert saw everything as a challenge to his authority. I half-expected him to call for an annulment because an apprentice sneezed during morning devotionals. Thankfully Lucius seems to be more moderate, but no, Cassandra, we can no longer afford to coddle the templars or the seekers. Many good men and women among them truly desire to serve the Maker and protect the innocent, and I believe they will return to us. But the mages have no reason to trust us, and every reason not to. They are who we must convince.”

“I agree with your reasoning, but ... why Hawke? I met her once, and ...” Leliana trailed off doubtfully. “I am not certain I would care to put great confidence in her judgment. One of her companions was a Rivaini pirate thief with no pants, and another was an elf with glowing tattoos who _literally_ growled at me. Hawke herself could barely stop making jokes long enough to discuss the fate of Kirkwall, and soon after, _her own lover_ blew up the Chantry!”

“Leliana, I’m surprised at you.” Justinia raised an eyebrow. “I assumed if anyone could sympathize with an oddly-matched group of misfits banding together against overwhelming odds, it would be one of the plucky heroes of the Fifth Blight.”

“Hawke is many things, Justinia, but she is no Solona Amell, even if they are related.”

“And if we could locate Solona Amell, we would not be having this conversation. But we cannot, and thus we must work with what we have. At the very least, Hawke may be able to act as a liaison with the rebel mages.” The Divine took a deep breath, and nodded firmly. “So. Both of you, off to Kirkwall. Go forward, do not stray, and return as quickly as you can. We have much to do before the Conclave.”

The Left and Right Hands of the Divine rose with purpose, and had almost reached the door when Justinia added one last instruction in an oddly sheepish voice: “Oh, and ... if you meet Varric Tethras ... could you ask if he will autograph my copy of Hard in Hightown?”


	26. Day 26: “But if you cannot see it, is it really there?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Dagna has a dangerously brilliant idea, as usual.

Edric Cadash strode into the lab, searching through the forest of white coats until he found one topped with bright red hair. She turned at his greeting, revealing a smattering of freckles, a cute button nose, and vivid green eyes filled with a truly staggering level of curiosity—especially for a dwarf. But Dr. Dagna Smith had always preferred knowledge to caution, and since her patents had skyrocketed Carta Defense Solutions to unprecedented success, he wasn’t inclined to argue her methods.

He had, however, drawn the line at letting her tinker with their coffeemaker at home. Regardless of one’s religious leanings, some things were still sacred, even to brilliant and adorable spouses.

He followed her into her office and closed the door before pulling her into an embrace. She gave him a cheeky grin. “So, is there any reason the lofty C.E.O. is slumming it down here with us lab rats, or am I in trouble again?”

“Admittedly, the Board wasn’t thrilled about having to replace yet another test firing range ... but I reminded them we have the money due to your unparalleled genius. So my favorite mad scientist is off the hook for now. I just came to ask if you had time for lunch.”

Dagna hesitated. “I shouldn’t; I’m finally making progress on that silencer tech.”

Cadash raised an eyebrow. “Really? You’ve been working on that for months. I still don’t know how much more silent you can make a gunshot, but if anybody can find a way, it’s you.”

She lit up with enthusiasm, and inwardly Edric sighed, realizing he wouldn’t get lunch anytime soon. “Oh, I’m not making it quieter,” she gushed, her words tumbling over each other in her haste. “Well, I mean I _am_ ; the noise is nearly non-existent now, but the _real_ goal is hiding the weapon from eyes as well as ears.”

His jaw dropped. “Are you saying you’ve figured out how to make an invisible gun?”

“Not ... exactly. But it has a—it’s hard to explain, but—a sort of chameleon effect. It’s fitted with micro cameras that pick up whatever’s on one side and project it on the opposite surface. So it’s not _technically_ invisible. But if you can’t see it, is it really there?”

After she brought him out to her workspace and showed him the prototype she’d developed, he had to admit it was impressive. “The tricky part wasn’t getting the cameras small and fast enough, but turning the weapon into a suitable display surface without compromising the firepower. But I finally hit on the right blend—a dawnstone/silverite alloy with a trace amount of lyrium. It even has a pretty pink and blue swirly color to it, as a bonus,” she giggled.

He whistled. “That’s gonna be one expensive gun.” She shrugged, uninterested in mundane details like price. And honestly, their clients would pay whatever they asked for something so unique. It would be ideal for undercover operatives or covert missions; the Nightingale and her people at the Chantry Inquisition Agency alone would order enough units to cover their R&D costs.

“So, are you going to bring it up to the Board this week? I should have a prototype ready by ...” Dagna trailed off with a frown as he shook his head. “What? Why not? I know it’ll sell!”

“Yes, it will,” he said patiently. “And what’ll happen when somebody with bad intentions gets a hold of one of our invisible guns and uses it to hurt a bunch of innocent people?”

Her face fell. “...oh. I see your point. I hadn’t really thought that far ahead. But ... you don’t think we should scrap the project, do you? I worked so hard on it ...”

“Hell no,” he scoffed. “It’s incredible, and if Carta’s investors found out I kept them from raking in that kind of coin, they’d demote me to test subject. All I’m saying is before I release something like this into the wild, I want you to turn that genius of yours toward designing a good countermeasure. The price alone will help there; your average street thug won’t have the cash for a lyrium-fused alloy. But we need a more concrete detection method to pitch along with the weapon.”

Dagna was barely listening, having already gotten that faraway look in her eye that said she was deep in the throes of creative problem-solving. “Mm-hmm. I could add a smidgeon of evanurium to make it register to x-rays? Might cause the bullets to glow, which would be cool, and—wait, no. Cancer. Bad. Maybe if I ...”

With an indulgent smile and a promise to bring her lunch, Cadash let his love get back to work.


	27. Day 27: “Remember, you have to remember.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Sandal speaks a prophecy.

The flames in the fireplace mesmerized Marian Hawke, but it wasn’t difficult; she was more than willing to gaze into the fire and try not to think. Anything to ward off the mental image of her mother’s ghastly demise. Weeks had passed, and she still had yet to pass a night without waking in a screaming nightmare, haunted by Leandra’s dead stare.

Anders sat behind her on the sofa, his arms cradling her as her head rested on his shoulder. The bright spot, if indeed there was one, was that his eyes remained their natural warm brown. Either he’d convinced Justice to withdraw for Hawke’s sake, or the spirit pitied her for the unfair way she’d lost her last living family member. In any case, it was a welcome and much needed reprieve.

She was surprised to hear herself speak. “It should have been me.”

“Hey, don’t say that,” her love’s soft voice murmured soothingly into her ear. “You and your mother had your differences, but you know she’d never have wanted anything to happen to you, and—“

“No, that’s not what I mean. It should have been me in Ferelden. Instead of Bethany. If Beth had been here, she wouldn’t have run off to play with knives; she would’ve stayed here and made Mother happy. And even if ... if that bastard had still gotten his hands on her somehow, Bethy would’ve been able to fix it. She wouldn’t have stood there, useless. Her healing magic could have saved her.”

The mage sighed, resting his cheek against her hair. “No, love. Leandra was long gone before we got there. There’s not enough magic in the world to fix that.”

“One day the magic will come back. All of it.” From a quiet corner, an unusual voice startled them both. Sandal Feddic often sat on the floor quietly playing with colored stones, but it was certainly the first time he’d spoken in that eerie tone. “Everyone will be just like they were,” he continued, oblivious to their astonishment. “The shadows will part, and the skies will open wide.”

Bodahn looked up from his ledger, staring at his son in shock. “Huh. What's this?”

Indifferent to the older dwarf’s distress, he added, “When he rises, everyone will see.”

Drawn out of her daze by the bizarre prophetic feel of the boy’s words, Hawke rose and strode over to him, Anders on her heels. “What are you talking about? When _who_ rises?”

The young dwarf regarded her with guileless blue eyes. “Enchantment?”

“No! _Not_ bloody enchantment! I want to hear more about what you just said,” Marian snapped. “’Everyone will be just like they were.’ What does that _mean_? Do you know how to bring them back, Sandal? Can you bring my family back to me?”

Anders eyed the boy, pondering. “’All the magic will come back’? All _what_ magic, and where has it been, I wonder?” He sighed. “It’s no use, Hawke. Look at him; I think he’s forgotten he even spoke.”

Frantic for any hope of restoring her loved ones, Marian gripped Sandal’s shoulders and gave him a brief but urgent shake. “Remember, you have to remember! Please, I ...” She broke off abruptly, noting his terrified expression, and dropped her hands in horror. “I ... I’m sorry, Sandal. I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m so sorry.”

Reaching out with his usual serene smile, he took her hand and patted it. “I like Hawke,” he said.

She gave him a weak nod before turning to Anders, burying her face in his neck. And finally, she allowed the tears to fall.


	28. Day 28: “I felt it. You know what I mean.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ariane seeks a friend’s help in deciding if Finn is ‘ _the one_.’

Kallian Tabris darted into the coffee shop, stomping snow from her boots and rubbing her numbed hands together. “Ugh, remind me why we’re doing this again? It’s bloody _freezing_ out there!” 

Finn shook ice off his ridiculous hat. His mother, convinced he was still six years old, had knitted it for him, in garish hues with a multicolored pom-pom on the top and embroidered with the University of Kinloch logo. It was hideous, he admitted, but it was warm. Kallian almost envied it today; she could barely feel the tips of her pointed ears.

“You _know_ why we’re doing this,” he said in an aggrieved tone, as they made their way over to drop their stuff on a table. I _need_ those extra credit points for Professor Irving’s class, so we _have_ to finish this scavenger hunt before the final exam!”

“You have a hundred and six percent in the class,” Ariane observed. Kallian laughed at her expression, diminished only by her vague resentment of the other elf’s indifference to the cold. She’d grown up in the country, and regularly mocked Kallian and Finn when they complained about the weather.

“That’s beside the point,” Finn said primly. “You never know; what if ... what if I fell ill and missed the final, but could still have passed the class if only I’d had ten more points?”

“Oh please.” Kallian rolled her eyes and they walked over to the counter to place their orders. “You could skip school until the end of the semester, and you’d still have the highest grade in every class.”

“One doesn’t like to brag,” he said, and Ariane shouldered him in the arm with a laugh.

Shortly after, they sat at their table, poring over the scavenger hunt list for ideas of where to go next. Kallian wrapped her hands around her coffee, savoring the heat and grinning at how cozy her friends were getting. “Finn, if you sit any closer, you might as well put her in your lap.”

“What? I—er, she’s, um...warm! Yes. Warm,” he stammered.

“Uh-huh. I’m sure that’s the only reason.” The two gingers blushed so hard they practically served as a light source. They always reacted that way, even though they’d been dating over a year; it never ceased to be adorable. Finn had made a few awkward hints about moving in together, but Ari kept dodging the subject. As far as Kallian was concerned, it was high time they got the whole thing sorted, and she was happy to nudge them in the right direction.

Ariane recovered first. “So, speaking of nosy relationship comments, where’s Alistair, anyway?”

Kallie laughed. “He had to go help his uncle’s bitchy Orlesian wife haul her Satinalia decorations down from the attic, poor baby. I’d pity him more, but every time he goes over there, his uncle gives him a fat check and their housekeeper gives him dinner and three days’ worth of leftovers. Plus, Eamon agreed to help us pay for the wedding, so Alistair’s been trying hard to play nice with the obnoxious wench. He should meet us here soon though.”

They chatted for a while longer before Finn excused himself to use the restroom. As soon as he was out of earshot, Ariane turned panicked eyes on her friend. “How did you know?”

“... huh?”

“When Alistair proposed. How did you know it was, I don’t know, _right_?”

“Ah,” Kallian said, a light bulb clicking on. “I guess I just ... I felt it. You know what I mean.”

“I _don’t_ , obviously, or I wouldn’t be asking!” Ari ran a hand through her hair in frustration. “I care about Finn—a lot—but he wants me to move in and ... I don’t know what to do. My family is really traditional, with all these rules about who’s allowed to be together, so I never thought much about what I wanted. I figured they would decide for me. But then I left for school and met Finn, and now ... ugh!”

“Whoa, take a breath.” Kallie considered a moment, and continued. “Remember that study abroad Alistair and I did a few years ago, when we were first dating?” The other elf nodded. “We traveled with this Orlesian music and history major named Leliana. We got to be pretty good friends, and ended up talking about relationships at one point. I told her I was falling for Alistair, but I was afraid our family backgrounds were too different for him to really be ‘ _the one_.’”

Ariane nodded again, eyes wide. “Exactly!”

“Leliana had this serious girlfriend once who stabbed her in the back—put some stolen stuff in her bag and let her take the blame for it; she got into a huge mess because of it. So, I expected her to say you can never count on people or something, but she didn’t.” Kallian smiled, remembering. “She said, ‘Marjolaine was elegant and romantic, but when things grew difficult, she chose her own selfish comfort over me. I thought of this while I studied romances through the ages, and the truth this: there is no such thing as ‘ _the one_.’ Love is beautiful, but it is no pretty bauble you buy and lay upon a shelf. It is an _ongoing action_ , like learning or working. You must re-dedicate yourself to it each day anew. So the person you must seek is not the greatest romantic, the fairest face, or even the best lover. You must seek the _most constant heart_ , the person who will purposefully choose to fall in love with you again, every day, whether the sun shines or the storm rages.”

Finn had stopped to compare notes with one of their classmates at another table, and Ariane watched him thoughtfully. “I guess that makes sense.”

“Yeah. Alistair and I both went through so much that year ... but he never even _considered_ giving up. Even when we had a bad day, and we were snapping at each other like jerks, he always treated it as a temporary thing we’d work through. He saw us as a couple and was committed to doing whatever it took to keep it that way.” She smiled. “So the question you need to ask yourself is, do you believe Finn is determined enough to fight for what he wants even when it’s difficult?”

The stares of no few customers swung their way when Ariane’s relieved laughter rang out. “Kallie, we’re doing a scavenger hunt in a blizzard. What do you think?”


	29. Day 29: “At least it can’t get any worse.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Rhys and Evangeline are in the wrong place at the right time.

“I hope we’ve made the right decision.”

Rhys lay awake, wrapped in a nest of blankets and the tangled limbs of his beloved. He breathed in the scent of her dark hair, fingers tracing a familiar scar, the memento of a battle that almost stole her from him forever. It was always a chore to leave her side, but today he was especially reluctant to rise, and not just because it meant exposing his flesh to the icy air of the Frostback Mountains. The day of the conclave had arrived; Divine Justinia V was set to meet with mages and templars in a bid for peace.

And he and Evangeline would not be there ... even though the talks might determine if their love would remain forbidden.

Her first kiss was sweet and comforting, but the ones that followed grew in heat. “Oho, so the stoic templar is no more eager to leave the nice warm bed than the slothful mage, hmm? Knight-Captain Evangeline, I am shocked,” he teased. But when she grinned and made him gasp with a motion of her hand beneath the sheets, he swiftly decided that both talking and getting up could wait.

A pleasant while later, Evangeline stretched languidly and rose, reaching for her neatly stacked gear. “I know it seems cowardly of us to stay away from the conclave ... but I can’t trust this meeting,” she said as she dressed. “You heard Fiona in Redcliffe. She _claims_ she’s not going because she fears treachery from the new Lord Seeker. I don’t blame her, but I don’t trust her either. If _she_ was planning sabotage, she wouldn’t tell us. Besides, neither of us is popular with our orders now; our presence would do more harm than good.” Rhys could only agree, finally forcing himself to leave the blankets. 

As they finished packing up their small camp, Rhys studied the northern horizon, imagining he could see the far-off Temple of Sacred Ashes shining in the morning sun. Deep in thought, he toyed with a pendant around his neck. Evangeline paused in her work, tilting her head in curiosity. “Is that new? I don’t remember seeing it before.”

“What? Oh, this?” he asked sheepishly, unaware he’d been fidgeting. “It’s an Amulet of Memories. Making them is a lost dwarven art. It was Wynne’s—er, my mother’s.” It still felt strange to call her his mother when he’d spent most of his life not even knowing her. But with all she’d done for him before her final death, he owed her at least that much. “Sister Leliana gave it to me before we left Val Royeaux; she’d been holding it for safekeeping. She said, ‘The Hero of Ferelden gave this to Wynne, many years ago. She was not one for sentimental keepsakes, but this was one of the few things she treasured, and she would want you to have it.’ I had it in my pack, but ... it seemed right to wear it today.”

“What does it do?”

With a smile, Rhys held the pendant and focused, and a glowing transparent image of Wynne shimmered into being, strong and proud as she’d been to the last. Evangeline gasped. “It’s designed to hold memories of loved ones separated by distance or death,” he said. “A fitting memento, isn’t it?”

“As a bonus,” Shale rasped, stomping up behind them with its usual thunderous tread, “the version from the trinket is silent, so one need not suffer the elderly mage’s incessant nagging.” Rhys chuckled; he’d spent enough time with the golem to realize its biting sarcasm as toothless. Shale had known his mother far longer than he had, and it was oddly comforting to have it at their side.

It could also smash most dangers they encountered, which came in handy.

“We’d better get moving if we’re going to make the pass by nightfall,” he said. “If Vivienne still holds Montsimmard, she might give us access to their sending stone, if nothing else.”

Evangeline picked up her pack and nodded. “With enough luck, perhaps the Divine will have forged a new treaty by then. It’s nice to think this whole mess could start getting better.”

He shrugged with a grin. “At least it can’t get any worse.”

Shale groaned. “Foolish mage. Why must it tempt fate so? Has it never read a tale?”

Rhys was in the midst of formulating a witty reply when, with an ear-splitting crack, the northern sky tore open. The eerie green glow made Evangeline look as nauseated as he felt. Their mouths gaped in shock, but Shale simply said, “Well. That’s new,” before picking up the rest of their gear and heading for the road. Rhys and Evangeline could only follow, clinging to each other’s hands.


	30. Day 30: “Do we really have to do this again?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the Theirins and their tenants make Halloween plans.

The residents of Vigil House were arguing, as usual.

It was a crisp Saturday in late October, and Elissa Cousland-Theirin surveyed her young tenants fondly. Not so long ago, she remembered sitting in the huge foyer of the estate she’d inherited, and thinking only of how the gloomy place reminded her of loved ones lost and dreams relinquished. She’d been hesitant when Alistair suggested renting out rooms to students from nearby Amaranthine University, but had ultimately given into his characteristic enthusiasm ... and she was glad. They’d never been able to have children of their own, but somehow, living among their offbeat collection of renters had soothed a bit of that old pain and restored a sense of family she’d almost forgotten.

And like many families, they disagreed on a wide variety of subjects. Today, it was Halloween planning.

“Ugh, do we really have to do this again? Why do I even _bother_ trying to plan anything with you guys? If we’re not going to get out and see the fall colors, what is the _point_?”

Elissa hid a grin behind her hand. The complaint came from Velanna, a lovely blond history major with a minor, oddly enough, in botany. “The girl cracks me up,” she’d told Alistair one evening. “She looks like she should call herself Leaf while introducing you to her boyfriend Pinecone at the Peace-and-Love Tree-Hugging Festival of Mud. But if so, she either missed out on what the other hippies were smoking, or ended on a bad trip, because she’s always about three words away from being pissed right off.” His chuckle had faded into concern, and he’d worried that Velanna was trapped in some dangerous situation. Elissa had kissed him with a smile. “Immediately wanting to help everyone is so _you_ , my love. But no, I think she’ll be fine. She’s hinted at some family issues, and I expect she’ll open up eventually.” It hadn’t happened yet, but luckily the others were more inclined to roll their eyes than get offended.

“Ooh, we could carve pumpkins! That would be outdoorsy, plus we could use them to decorate! It would be so much fun!” 

If Velanna was the angriest hippie, Sigrun was the cheeriest goth. Even shorter than the willowy blond, she was rounded and perky, wearing her dark hair in pigtails, but the girl-next-door look was offset by bold makeup and an angular symbol tattooed on her face. Today, she wore black leggings and motorcycle boots beneath a fluffy orange skirt covered in glittery silver bats, and a hoodie embellished with the words, “Sometimes I wrestle with my demons but sometimes we just snuggle.” Unlike Velanna, the geology major had been breezily open about her past, and she’d been through hardships Elissa could scarcely comprehend. When asked how she got through it all with such a positive attitude, she’d shrugged. “The worst has already happened, so there’s nowhere to go but up, right?” Sigrun reminded her of Alistair in some ways; she’d come through darkness unspoiled, and she was always quick with a smile or a hug.

“If pumpkin-carving parties have beer, I’m in.”

Oghren reacted to their disapproving glares with a smirk and a belch, showing his usual class. Of all the residents, he was the one Elissa had the toughest time making up her mind about. He was in the criminal justice program, but she couldn’t say whether he wanted to stop crime or learn how to get away with it, and she’d never seen him with a book. On the other hand, he valued his spot on the rugby team, and never missed a practice or a workout—though it was a mystery _how_ , given his seemingly constant partying. She wondered yet again if his crass, off-putting behavior was a cover for emotions he lacked the capacity to process, if it was a sign of borderline alcoholism, or if he was just that shallow. It seemed she might never know.

“Mixing big knives and alcohol? Sure, I can’t imagine how that could possibly go wrong.”

The sandy-haired nursing major was the next to chime in. Anders lay on the floor playing with their cat, Urth (short for Urthemeow; one day she’d learn to stop letting her husband name the pets). Alistair had taken Barkspawn along when he left to run errands, so the dainty black Tevene long-hair was making the most of the undivided attention. Anders caught her looking, and grinned at her with the easy charm that explained how he’d spent the previous semester on friends’ couches. It would doubtless give him phenomenal bedside manner when he finished his schooling, but at present seemed more geared toward being _in_ beds than _out_ of them. She had to admit his flirtatious teasing fluttered her pulse now and then, a fact which had caused Alistair to vacillate between a glare and a pout whenever the young man was around—until she’d set out to convince him no one else could steal her heart. Elissa smirked, remembering. The dinner she’d made him, with his favorite cheesecake for dessert, had been nice. But the second dessert course lasted much longer. And involved lingerie. They may also have found additional uses for the leftover chocolate syrup and whipped cream. After that, Alistair declared himself thoroughly convinced, and was rather more kindly disposed to their resident cat lover.

“If we decorate, we’ll have to give out candy. It wouldn’t be fair to raise kids’ hopes with a big festive display and then have nothing for them.”

It always amused her that, despite Oghren’s major, the one who was most concerned with justice was Kristoff. She found it interesting he’d become friends with Anders; other than their mutual compassion for humanity, two more different people could hardly be imagined. Where Anders wore his golden hair long, with a flirty smile in his warm brown eyes and a joke at the ready, Kristoff’s dark hair was shaved to the skull, and he often reacted to humor with a distant silver stare of incomprehension. Nonetheless, Elissa was fond of the awkward young man, and impressed by his commitment to his studies in investigative journalism, a field he’d pursued as long as he could remember. Careful to ensure everyone got their chance to speak, he turned to the final member of the group. “What do you think we should do?” he asked.

“We ... we used to put up a ton of decorations at home; I highly doubt anyone’s using them now. I could ask my sister where they are, I guess. If you want.”

Elissa’s heart went out to the pain in Nathaniel Howe’s voice, despite the spiky stare that challenged anyone to mock him. Sadly, he had good reason for it. He was the son of the former governor of Amaranthine, a well-known business tycoon. Until a year ago, he’d had his own expensive loft in a trendy part of town along with anything else he wanted. But then his dad was charged with embezzlement and sent to prison after an extremely public trial. All their assets were seized. Nate’s sister was married and cushioned from the worst deprivations, but the pale, dark-haired young man with the wounded grey eyes had lost his apartment, his car, and all his more shallow friends. The defeat in his posture when he’d asked the price of the room stuck with her, but he’d persevered, and continued to work toward his degree in finance. She wondered though, without the influence of his demanding father, how long it would be before he reconsidered his interests in life.

“That’s a great idea, Nate,” Elissa said, giving him a warm smile. “More decorations would be lovely. So I guess our next step is to shop for pumpkins—which we will not be carving while drunk, thank you very much—and, what else? Oh, yes, candy.”

“Did someone say candy?” Alistair’s voice preceded him into the sitting room, until he appeared a moment later looking like a refugee from a grocery bag factory.

Elissa blinked. “Alistair? Exactly how many of those bags are filled with Halloween candy?”

“... a few?” he dissembled, setting down his haul. At her stern glare, he broke. “All right, so I may have gone a little overboard on supplies. But ... but ‘Liss, I never got to _do_ Halloween as a kid. You can’t blame me for being excited ... can you?” He looked down at her with those bottomless golden puppy-dog eyes, and she sighed in defeat.

“You’re lucky I love you, Mr. Theirin,” she grumbled.

“Most definitely, Mrs. Theirin,” he said, pulling her out of her seat to enfold her in sweet kisses.

“Ugh, get a room, you two,” Anders teased, and they laughed.


	31. Day 31: “I’ve waited so long for this.”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Solas and Lavellan meet to face the end.

Ellana Lavellan walked the Fade in dreams, as she had every night before, as she was determined to do as long as it took. She rubbed her arms to ward away the winter chill, and as always, was startled to feel her left hand make contact with her flesh. But of course, she was a mage and this was the Fade; here, if she believed her amputated limb to be intact, intact it was. Her nightly vigil was not entirely without perks, at least.

Silently she strolled along the battlements of her once-comfortable home. Unlike most of the Fade, the otherworldly reflection of Skyhold was ... different. Its halls and towers remained constant. No rocks floated in midair; no fires burned on bare ground. Still, it always felt wrong, seeing it so empty. But dreaming old friends and companions into existence would only distract her from her task, and that, she could not afford. All the traveling, the spying, the fighting, and they’d finally learned what she should’ve known in the first place: the key to it all was here.

He would come. All she could do was wait.

She looked up at the stars after cutting through the empty shell of Cullen’s old office. They weren’t the real stars, of course, but they comforted her nonetheless. She wondered, if she failed here, would the stars in her world ever look this way again? Would it matter, if no one survived to look at them? Her eyes fell back to the path before her.

And she stopped. In the carefully painted rotunda ahead, there was a light where none should be. And beside it, someone she’d both longed for and dreaded to see.

Solas had returned.

Neither of them spoke as she approached. His face held the same jumbled mire of expressions she imagined she’d see in a mirror: the clenched jaw of a warrior facing battle, the yearning eyes of a starving child at a feast, and above all, the weary brow of a traveler with too many miles to go before they could lay down their burdens.

She didn’t know how long they stood, too close and too far apart, simply looking at each other. Finally she gathered her courage and the shards of her heart, and spoke.

“I wondered when you would return,” she noted, her voice empty and cold as the night sky. “Tarasyl'an Te'las, you said; the place the sky’s held back. It all began here. The Veil rose from these broken stones, and now you come to tear it down.” Feigning a certainty she struggled to feel, she added, “You know I can’t stand by and let you do that.”

And yet he said nothing. Her body edged an involuntary step closer to him, drawn as the moon draws the tides, and the pain bled into her tone despite her best efforts. “Please, ma vhenan. Come back to me. You can still choose a brighter path.”

“I prayed you would not find me here.” He spoke at last, the first words she’d heard in the music of his voice since the day he took her hand ... and he chose to push her away again. The knife in her heart twisted in a way she’d grown familiar with, but never gotten used to. “I’ve waited so, so long for this, and yet you come to beg me to forsake it? You cannot know how much you ask.” Turning aside, he ran his fingers over the bright hues he’d layered on these walls in better times. “The People thrived in ages past. I doomed them to this pitiful existence. I meant to free them, but my own hands have enslaved them in this dead gray world.”

_“No.”_ Ellana’s sharp staccato denial shocked him out of his thoughts and pulled his gaze to her face. “You’re wrong, Solas. You are _not_ infallible, and you _cannot be sure this is the only way._ The last time you had a grand plan, you gave Corypheus the means to start a war that killed thousands and nearly made him a god. The time before that, you created the Veil and destroyed everything you knew.”

“You think I do not know all this?” he spat, voice raised and shaking with grief, and his eyes flickered with blue-white light. “Do you take joy in calling out my failures, ma vhenan? I thought you kinder.”

She winced at the sharp sweet ache of hearing those words of endearment fall from his lips again, but took a deep breath to steel her heart. “I take joy in none of this, believe me. You know I don’t say it to be cruel; I only mean for you to stop and truly think on this. Every time before, you’ve wrestled alone with the problems of the world, and alone found a solution ... which never ended the way you’d hoped. Why do you expect this time to be different? Would it not be better,” her jaw quavered, “would it not be better to have help? To work together with all the allies we’ve gathered?”

Her hand trembled as she reached slowly to cup his cheek, and they both gasped at that small point of contact. “Would it not be better to let me help you?”

With a strangled groan, he crushed her to his chest, burying his face in her hair. “You complicate things, my love,” he breathed. “Before I knew you, my plans were clear, but now ...” He searched her eyes for a long moment before giving in to what they both wanted, and pressing his lips to hers. Their tears mingled as they savored a kiss so long denied.

Finally, she buried her face in his neck, grasping him tight in her arms lest he slip through her fingers again. “I love you,” she whispered.

“And I you, my beautiful one. I should wish otherwise, for simplicity’s sake, but I find I cannot bring myself to do so.” His hands roamed her back with slow desperation. “I have seen so many dark things in this world, and yet one bright heart chases them all away.”

They stood holding each other in silence, until finally she forced herself to ask. “Though I would stay in this moment forever, I know we cannot. Solas ... what are you going to do?”

The face of the god she’d feared and the man she loved looked down upon her, and holding her breath, she could only wait to learn which would prevail.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you've all enjoyed my Fictober pieces (though I am sorry/notsorry for leaving such a big bite of angst right there at the end, lol)! This is the first time I've managed to stick with a whole month-long event like this, and it has been amazing, both as a way to practice a lot of characters I hadn't written before, and to prove to myself I could actually finish the thing. Huge thanks to all who've left kudos and comments ... and now, onward to NaNoWriMo! :D


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